Stories of the Civil War

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HISTORY

STORES

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CIVIL WAR,

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STORIES

OF

THE CIVIL WAR

ADAPTED FOR

SUPPLEMENTARY READING

BY

ALBERT F. BLAISDELL

AUTHOR OF "THE STUDY OF THE ENGLISH CLASSICS," "CHILD'S BOOK OF

HEALTH," " HOW TO KEEP WELL," " OUR BODIES AND HOW WE

LIVE," "FIRST STEPS WITH AMERICAN AND ENGLISH

AUTHORS," " READINGS FROM THE

WAVERLEY NOVELS," ETC.

BOSTON :

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Copyright, 1890, by Lee and Shepard.

STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR.

PREFACE

This is a book of stories about the Civil War. It
is not a history — only a book of stories edited for
school and home use. Our aim has not been to crowd
the mind with facts, but to arouse in the younger
generation a lively interest in the brave men who
fought in the war for the Union.

We have tried to present a series of pictures of
our national life during the late war, around which a
fuller knowledge of the course of its history may
gather.

These stories are designed to interest as well as to
instruct young people, and to excite in their minds
a keen desire to know more of the noble deeds of
their fathers and grandfathers, who sacrificed so much
during this momentous period of our country's history.

In making selections from the great mass of books

4 PREFACE

about the war, we have kept in mind these three
points :

First, to make such selections as are interesting,
graphic, and founded on fact.

Scco7id, to select those written by men who person-
ally took part in the scenes which they describe.

Third, to prepare such pieces as will arouse a greater
love and reverence for those who fought, bled, and
died, that we, as a people, might live to-day in peace
and prosperity.

The stories are written in a lively and attractive
style, and in v^ry simple language. In many of them
a graphic s*y/e and terse diction will more than make
up for any lack of rhetorical finish.

The thanks of the editor are due to Messrs. D. Apple-
ton & Co. ; Fords, Howard, & Hulbert ; T. Y. Crowell
& Co. ; Charles L. Webster & Co. ; and to the Pub-
lishers of the Youth's Companion, for kind permission
to use selections from their copyrighted authors.

ALBERT F. BLAISDELL.
July, 1890.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER FAGB

I. The Nation's Peril 7

II. The Bombardment of Fort Sumter . . . .11

III. Sunday in Norwood after the Fall of Fort

Sumter 16

IV. Battle-Hymn of the Republic 23

V. The Death of Colonel Ellsworth .... 25

VI. Under Fire for the First Time .... 28

VII. Little Eddie the Drummer Boy .... 36

VIII. The Combat between the Monitor and Merrimac 42

IX. A Thrilling Experience in an Army Balloon . 47

X. A Pen Picture of Abraham Lincoln ... 54
XL How a Boy helped General McClellan win a

Battle 62

XII. Old Abe, the Soldier Bird 68

XIII. A Boy's Experience at the Battle of Freder-
icksburg 74

XIV. The Story of Sheridan's Famous Ride ... 82

XV. The Cavalry Charge 89

XVI. The Destruction of the Albemarle 93

XVII. The Final Struggle at Gettysburg ... 99

XVIII. Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech 105

XIX. The Black Regiment 109

6 CONTENTS

CHAPTER

XX. Two Scouts who had Nerves of Steel . .113

XXI. The Clothes-Line Telegraph 120

XXII. Combat between the Kearsarge and Alabama, 124

XXIII. The Message of Life 129

XXIV. Sherman starts on his March to the Sea . 138
XXV. Sherman's March to the Sea . . . .144

XXVI. The Perils of a Spy's Life 146

XXVII. How Admiral Farragut was lashed to the

Rigging 154

XXVIII. The Horrors of Andersonville Prison . . 158

XXIX. The Heroism of Rebecca Wright . . . 164

XXX. The Fortunes of War 169

XXXI. Barter and Trade in Andersonville Prison . 178
XXXII. Bread cast upon the Waters . . . .182

XXXIII. The Surrender of General Lee. . . .187

XXXIV. The Grand Review in Washington at the

Close of the War 193

XXXV. Running the Blockade 197

XXXVI. Boys in the Late War 208

XXXVII. How They Lived in the South during the

War 216

XXXVIII. Foes become Friends 222

XXXIX. The Blue and the Gray 230

XL. The Brave Men who fought for the Union . 233

XLI. Memorial Day 237

XLII. Ode for Memorial Day 242

STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

THE NATION'S PERIL

Thirty years ago there took place, in this country,
one of the most exciting political campaigns in Ameri-
can history. Abraham Lincoln, the candidate of the
Republican party, was elected President of the United
States on November 6, i860.

A large book would not suffice to give the young
student the full history of this campaign and the memor-
able events which followed during the next six months.
It was the culmination of affairs which had taken place
during the half-century before. It was the outburst of
a storm which had been brewing for many long years.
Wise statesmen of a former generation had foreseen,
with mingled sorrow and dismay, just such a crisis in
our country's history. The deep-seated cause, of which
a long and costly war was the natural result, is a subject
for earnest study in connection with the formal history
of the United States. It does not come within the
scope of this book.

8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

As soon as the election of Lincoln was announced,
men of extreme views at the South proceeded at once
to carry out their threats of attempting to withdraw
from the Union. Seven States seceded, at intervals
more or less brief, from the Union, and organized what
was known as the Southern Confederacy. Four States
seceded later. The people at the North were amazed
at the rapidity with which the organization against the
national government established itself. The humiliat-
ing events of that dread winter of 1860-61 are a part of
our history. The government at Washington stood as
if paralyzed. The President was a weak, old man, and
did not know what to do. Most of his cabinet officers
were friendly to the South, and took advantage of their
official positions to allow the enemies of the country to
take possession of the national stores, arms, arsenals,
forts, and navy yards, within the limits of the seceding
States. The government did not even dare to send
re-enforcements to the forts along the southern seacoast
lest such action should precipitate a civil war. This
weak and irresolute action gave the seceding States
ample opportunity to prepare for the coming strife at
the expense of the nation. This cost the country many
millions of dollars and thousands of lives to regain dur-
ing the next four years.

THE NATION S PERIL 9

Such, briefly, was the condition of the country when
Abraham Lincoln, fearful of life, came to Washington
in March, 1861, and quietly took the reins of the gov-
ernment. How little could the good President, or even
the wisest of his advisers, realize the overwhelming
responsibility of his position.

With the stirring events which followed we are
familiar. The story of how Major Anderson removed
his little band of United States troops from Fort Moul-
trie to Fort Sumter, in Charleston harbor, for greater
safety, is a familiar one ; likewise, how the Confederates
fired upon a vessel sent with supplies intended for it ;
and, finally, after a severe bombardment, how they com-
pelled the fort to surrender. Forbearance had ceased
to be a virtue. It was seen even by the most timid and
conservative that something must be done at once to
assert the majesty and power of the national govern-
ment. President Lincoln acted resolutely and promptly.
On the 15th of April, 1861, he issued a proclamation
calling out seventy-five thousand militia, for three months,
to suppress the rebellion.

The people of the North answered promptly and
vigorously to the dry and formal words of the proclama-
tion. No one had suspected how deep in the hearts
of the people was the sentiment of patriotism. The

10 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

lowering of the flag at Fort Sumter pierced the pride
and the honor of the North to the quick. The morn-
ing and evening of a single day saw peace utterly laid
aside, and twenty millions of people filled with the spirit
of war.

The same scenes were at the same time occurring in
the Southern States. Even more fiery was the out-
break, because the people were of more demonstrative
natures.

And thus it came to pass that thirty millions of
people, divided into two bands, went seeking each
other through the darkness and mystery of war.

BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER II

II

THE BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER

[The Story as told by an Eye-witness.]

It was already near morning (April 12, 1861). The
east was changing, and a faint twilight came stealing
over the harbor (Charleston), every moment growing
brighter. At no moment of the day has light such an
enchanting effect as between twilight and sunrise.
Everything has a freshness, an unworn and pure look,
as if it had just been created. A light film of mist lay
along the rim of the harbor ; but within that silver set-
ting the water lay dark and palpitating. Out of its
bosom rose Fort Sumter, sheer from the water, which
lapped its very base on every side. How serene and
secure the fort looked ! How beautifully the morning
brightened around it, though as yet the sun rose far
down below the sea.

I was startled by the roar of a mortar a little be-
hind me. Out of its white smoke rose, with graceful
curve, a bomb that hurtled through the air and burst
above the fort.

12 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

" May violence overtake the wretch, and a disgrace-
ful death ! " I did not know that it was my own State
that broke the peace. Edmund Ruffin it was, an old
man with white hair that hung down in profusion over
his shoulders, and was now flying wild, his eyes bright
with an excitement either of fanaticism or insanity.

This single shot given, there was a dead pause for a
moment or two. A flock of wild ducks, startled from
their feeding-ground, flew swiftly along the face of the
water, and were lost behind the fort. The peace was
gone. This tranquil harbor was changed to a volcano.
Jetting forth from around its sides came tongues of
fire, wrapped in smoke, and the air was streaked with
missiles converging from every side and meeting at
Sumter. Now that the circle was once on fire it flamed
incessantly. Gun followed gun — battery answered bat-
tery — and the earth fairly trembled with the explosions.
I was fascinated. I could not withdraw. I waited to
see the fort deliver its fire. It stood silent.

As the sun flamed above the horizon and shot its
light across the waters, up rose the flag from the fort,
gracefully climbing to its topmost height, and rolled out
its folds, as if it were sent up to look out over the
troubled scene and command peace. Still no gun from
the fort replied. Two hours of bombarding, and not a

BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER 1 3

shot in return. But at seven in the morning, a roar
from the lower tier of guns gave notice that the fort
had roused itself and joined in the affray. Its shot
began to fall around me. I retreated within the bat-
tery, and then, sick and heart-heavy, I determined to
make my way back to the city. My heart was with
the seventy men battling for the flag against five
thousand.

As I drew near the city, I began to hear the church
bells ringing wild with joy. Crowds everywhere lined
the wharves, filled the streets, covered the roofs of the
hitherward houses. The people had been out all night.
Many, discouraged at the delay, had begun returning
to their homes. But the first sound of a gun brought
them back with alacrity. One would think that the
humbling of the national flag was the most joyous occa-
sion in the world.

All the afternoon the same continuous firing filled
every part of the city with its sound. Volumes of
black smoke rolled up from the fort. It was on fire.
Its guns fired but infrequently. Every time the smoke
rolled away I looked anxiously through the glass to see
if the flag still waved. The sun went down upon it.
All night, but at intervals of fifteen minutes, the bom-
bardment went on. People who had expected to reduce

14 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

the fort in a few hours seemed discouraged at this pro-
tracted defence.

The morning came, and with its first full light the
forts that lay in a circle round the fort opened in order,
Johnson on the south, Cummings' Point on the east,
Moultrie on the north, and the floating battery on the
west, together with the smaller intermediate batteries.
As far as I could discern, the walls of Sumter had suf-
fered little. No breach appeared. The barbette guns
were knocked away. But though they were the heavi-
est, they had never been used. The besiegers aimed to
sweep them with such a fire that the men could not
work them. Again the smoke rolled up from the fort,
and flames could now be seen. Moultrie poured a con-
tinuous stream of red-hot shot upon the devoted fort.
At last came noon. The firing ceased. Boats were
putting off to the fort. By one o'clock it was noised
abroad that the garrison had surrendered. It was true.
On Sunday noon, they were to salute the flag and evac-
uate the fort.

If the week days were jubilant, how shall I describe
the Sabbath ? The churches were thronged with ex-
cited citizens. In many of these all restraint was
thrown off, and the thanksgiving and rejoicing for the
victory swept everything like summer winds. I went

BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER 1 5

to my own church. The decorum of the service, which
is a bulwark against irreverent excitements, served, on
this occasion, a good purpose. Yet, strange as it may
seem, in the lessons for the day occurred a passage that
sounded in my ears like a prophecy, and full of warning
and doom. It was this : " Prepare war, wake up the
mighty men ; let them come up. Beat your plough-
shares into swords, and your pruning-hooks into spears ;
let the weak say, I am strong. Multitudes, multitudes
in the valley of decision ; for the day of the Lord is
near in the valley of decision."

As I came from church, a south wind blew, and I
heard the sound of cannon. I walked rapidly to the
point, and only in time to see through my glass the flag
descending from over Sumter. The drama is ended
— or rather opened ! who can tell what shall be the end
of this ? It may be that all the roar and battle of the
two days past is as nothing to that which at some future
day shall precede the raising again of the flag over this
fallen fortress. The future is in the hand of God.
Over the future hangs a dark cloud which I would that
I might pierce and know what it hides.

.M STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

III

SUKDaY JN NORWOOD AFTER THE FALL OF FORT

SUMTER

[From Henry Ward Beecher's "Norwood."]

On Sunday morning, the 14th of April, 1861, it was
known that Fort Sumter had surrendered. The scales
fell from men's eyes.

There was war !

The flag of the nation had been pierced by men who
had been taught their fatal skill under its protection.
The nation's pride, its love, its honor, suffered with
that flag, and with it trailed in humiliation.

Without concert or council, the whole people rose
suddenly with one indignation, to vindicate the nation's
honor. It came as night comes, or the morning, broad
as a hemisphere. It rose as the tides raise the whole
ocean, along the whole continent, drawn upward by the
whole heavens.

The frivolous became solemn ; the wild grew stern ;
the young felt an instant manhood.

It was the strangest Sunday that ever dawned on

DEFENCE OF FORT SUMTFR.

SUNDAY IN NORWOOD 1 7

Norwood since the colonial days, when, by reason of
hostile Indians, the fathers repaired to church with
their muskets. All the region round came forth.
Never had such an audience gathered in that house.
Every face had in it a new life. Dr. Buell was not
wont to introduce into his Sabbath services topics allied
to politics, nor did he mean to change his habit to-day*

His sermon, weighty, and on themes which usually
are accounted more solemn than all others, yet sounded
light and empty in men's ears. Nor had he ever
preached with so much difficulty. He lost the conned
tion, hurried passages which should have been deliber-
ate, and afterwards owned that he was never so glad to
get through a sermon.

It was in the prayer following that the stream burst
forth. A mighty tide rose within him, and he poured
out his soul for the country. He prayed for the gov-
ernment, for the men in Fort Sumter, who had been
like the three children in the fiery furnace, for the flag,
and for all in authority, that they might have wisdom
and courage to vindicate it.

The house was still, so still that the ear ached be-
tween every pause. The word "Amen" set loose an
army of handkerchiefs, and people wiped more eyes
than were ever wet at once in that house. Just as Dr.

18 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Buell rose to give out the closing hymn, he saw the choii
rising as if to give an anthem. The minister sat right
down ; but he quickly rose up again, and every man in
the house, as the choir sang the " Star-Spangled Ban-
ner." Such a scene had never been known in sober
Norwood. And when the last strain died, it was with
difficulty that the minister could repress an open cheer.

" Why didn't you let 'em ? " said Deacon Marble.
" It's enough to make the stones cry out. I never felt
so sorry before that I hadn't a house full of boys."

Aunt Polly, for once, found nothing to rebuke in the
deacon. " This is the Lord's work. Sunday isn't a
bit too good to teach men that they ought 'er save the
country ! . . . My gran'father dug the sile out from
under this church to git saltpetre to make powder on,
to fight for our liberties ! And I guess the old man's
bones that's lyin' yonder shook when they heard them
cannon jar ! Now's the time for folks to show them-
selves."

The whole population seemed to be in the street.
Men formed groups and discussed the only topic.
Party lines were fast rubbing out. There was an
afternoon service, but it was like a dream. As yet
men's feelings had found no channels, and no relief in
action. A few discordant notes there were. Tough old

SUNDAY IN NORWOOD 19

Hunt, farmer up in " Hardscrabble," as a poor neigh-
borhood was called, in spite of angry eyes and frowning
brows, would have his say : —

" I alius told you that the Abolitionists would bring
blood on us. Now I hope they're satisfied. They've
been teasin' and worryin' the South for twenty years,
and now the South has turned and gored 'em. Sarvec*
'em right !"

"I tell ye, old leather-skin," said Hiram Beers,
" you'd better shut up ! The boys ain't in a temper to
hear such talk. You'll git hurt afore you git through
a hundred speeches like that."

Old Hunt was a small, wiry man, about sixty years
of age, with black hair, and a turbid hazel eye that
looked cruel when he was wrathful. Hiram's words set
him aflame.

" Where's the man that's goin' to stop my tongue ?
This is a free country, I guess. I shall say what I've a
mind to" —

Just then Hiram, who saw that trouble was brewing,
changed the attack from the old man to his horse, who
was as fiery and obstinate as his master, and already
had exhausted his patience and fodder in a long Sun-
day under the horse-shed. While the old man was
standing in his wagon, bristling all over like a black-

20 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

and-tan terrier, and fierce for opposition, Hiram gave
his horse a keen cut where a horse least likes to be hit.
The first thing Hunt knew, he was sprawling in his
wagon, and the horse was heading for home with a
speed unbecoming a Sabbath day. The old man, nim-
ble and plucky, gathered himself up, utterly at a loss
which he was most angry with, the public or the horse ;
now giving the animal a rousing pull, and then shaking
his left fist back at the crowd, he disappeared from the
green, in a medley of utterances which, addressed
sometimes to his horse and sometimes to Hiram, and
sometimes to the imaginary Abolitionists, formed a
grotesque oration.

"I'm as much of a Democrat as he is," said Hiram,
"and have alius gone with my party. But I tell ye,
boys, this is no party matter. This is a black business,
and there ain't but one way to settle it. We've tried
the votes, and they won't stand that. Now we'll try
the bullets, and the side that can stand that longest is
goin' to rule this country, that's all."

Old Mr. Turfmould, the village undertaker, ventured
to say, without meaning any harm — merely as a moral
reflection: — "Ah, Mr. Beers, it's awful, killin' folks,
and huddlin' 'em into holes without funerals and decent
fixin's of any kind."

SUNDAY IN NORWOOD 21

" Shet up, old owl ! " said Hiram. " This thing's
goin' to be fought Out, that's sartain, and we won't have
nobody hangin' back at home. A man that won't fight
when his flag's fired on, ain't worth a dead nit."

Old Deacon Trowbridge was talking with Judge
Bacon, to whom he usually deferred with profound
respect for his legal learning.

"I hope," said Judge Bacon, with calm and gentle
tones, " that the government will forbear and not be in
haste to strike again. We ought not to think of
coercion. Our Southern brethren will come to their
reason if we are patient, and wait for their passions to
subside."

" I tell ye, judge, we ain't goin' to wait. We've
waited long enough, and this is what we've got for it !
Secede ! rob the government ! shoot our flag ! and kill
our soldiers, shut up in the fort like chickens in a coop,
and then not fight ? You might as well have a Day of
Judgment and nobody hurt. If we ain't goin' to fight
now, we'd better swap clothes with the women, and let
them try awhile. I tell ye we will fight ! "

Deacon Trowbridge was like a green hickory fire on a
winter's morning. It requires the utmost skill and
blowing to get it to burn, but when once it is started,
it blazes and crackles with immense heat, and speedily

22 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

drives all those who were cuddling and shivering about
it, far back into the room.

On he went, indignant at the judge, and talking to
every one he met. " It's come ! Ye can't help it, I
don't want to help it ! It's the Lord's will, and I am
desperate willin'. If my boys — some on 'em — don't
go, I'll disown 'em — don't want no cowards on my
farm ! "

The sun had gone down. Every household in Nor-
wood and wide about was a scene of excitement. That
night, prayer was a reality. Never before had the chil-
dren heard from their fathers' lips such supplications
for the country. Never before had the children's
hearts been open to join so fervently in prayer them-
selves. Men seemed to be conscious that they were
helpless in the presence of an immeasurable danger.
By faith they laid their hearts upon the bosom of God,
till they felt the beatings of that great Heart whose
courses give life and law to the universe.

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 23

iv ,

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC

[By Mrs. Julia Ward Howe.']

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the

Lord ;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of

wrath are stored ;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible

swift sword :

His truth is marching on.

I have seen him in the watchfires of a hundred cir-
cling camps ;

They have builded him an altar in the evening dews
and damps ;

I have read his righteous sentence by the dim and flar-
ing lamps :

His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of

steel :
" As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace

shall deal ;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with

his heel,

Since God is marching on."

24 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call

retreat ;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg.

ment seat ;
Oh ! be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be jubilant, my

feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the

sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me ;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men

free,

While G^d is Torching on.

THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH 25

THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH

It was two o'clock on the morning of the twenty-
fourth of May, 1 86 1, when the expedition planned by
General Scott started secretly from Washington to
take military possession of Alexandria. One-half of
the troops crossed the Long Bridge, and marched down
the right bank of the Potomac, to enter Alexandria by
the rear, and to cut off any Confederate troops who
might be lurking about the city. The other half, in-
cluding the Fire Zouaves under Colonel Ellsworth,
went down the river in steamers, from the Washington
Navy Yard. It was in the first gray of the morning,
when the steamers touched at the wharves. Of this
division Colonel Ellsworth was in command. He was
one of the first to land. While the regiment was form-
ing in line, one company was sent, post haste, to seize
the telegraph station, that no communication could be
sent to Richmond of their landing. This was of such
vital importance that Colonel Ellsworth himself accom-

26 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

panied the party, passing through the streets on the
full run.

On their way they went by the Marshall House, a
hotel kept by one Jackson, over the roof of which a
Confederate flag was flaunted. "We must have that
flag," said Colonel Ellsworth, and, rushing in, he found
a white man, in the front room, half dressed, and a
negro. "Who raised that flag?" inquired the colonel.
" I do not know," was the reply, " I am a boarder here."
Followed by two or three, he sprang up-stairs to the
roof of the house, seized the flag, and was descending
with it in his hands, hardly a moment having been
occupied in the movement, when the same half-dressed
man, who had said that he was a boarder, but who
proved to be Jackson himself, a brutal desperado,
jumped from a dark passage, and, levelling a double-
barrelled gun at Colonel Ellsworth's breast, at a dis-
tance of not more than two yards, fired a couple of
slugs directly into his heart, and which, of course,
proved fatal.

Ellsworth was on the second or third step from the
landing, and he dropped forward with that heavy, hor-
rible, headlong weight, which always comes of sudden
death inflicted in such a manner. His assailant had
turned like a flash to give the contents of the other

THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH 27

barrel to Francis E. Brownell, a private, but either he
could not command his aim, or the Zouave was too
quick with him, for the slugs went over his head, and
passed through the panels and wainscot of the door,
which sheltered some sleeping lodgers. Simultaneously
with his second shot, and sounding like the echo of the
first, Brownell's rifle was heard, and the assassin stag-
gered backward. His wound, exactly in the middle of
the face, was frightful beyond description. Of course
Brownell did not know how fatal his shot had been,
and so, before the man dropped, he thrust his sabre
bayonet through and through the body, the force of the
blow sending the dead man violently down the upper
section of the second flight of stairs.

The body of the murdered colonel was laid upon a
bed ; and the flag, stained with his blood, and purified
by this contact from the baseness of its former mean-
ing, was fitly laid about his feet.

Thus died, by the hand of a cowardly assassin, the
brave and gallant Ellsworth. The tragic death of
this young officer at a time when the country was not
used to the horrors of war made a profound impression
upon the people of the North.

28 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

VI

UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME

How does a soldier feel who is under fire for the first
time ? To hear the bullets go singing past, now on this
side, now on that, and now just overhead ! How does a
regiment act during its first battle ? An officer of a
Maine regiment thus vividly describes the behavior of
his men during their first experience in battle. To one
glancing along the line, the sight was ludicrous in the
extreme. All were excited, and were loading and firing
in every conceivable manner.

" Some were standing, but most were kneeling 01
lying down. Some were astride their pieces, and were
ramming the charge totally regardless of the rules on
that point. Many had poured their cartridges on the
ground, and were ' peddling out ' the lead with more
speed than accuracy. We all took occasion to gibe our
friends in gray to the best of our ability. So, with the
din of musketry and the yells of friend and foe, it seemed
as if bedlam were let loose.

" The behavior of those who were hit appeared most

UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 29

singular ; and, as there were so many of them, it looked
as if we had a crowd of howling dervishes dancing and
kicking around in our ranks.

" A bullet often knocks over the man it hits, and rarely
fails by its force alone to disturb his equilibrium. Tkeit
the shock, whether painful or not, causes a sudde**
jump or shudder.

" Now, as every man, with hardly an exception, was
either killed, wounded, hit in the clothes, hit by spent
balls or stones, or jostled by his wounded comrades, it
follows that we had a wonderful exhibition. Some
reeled round and round, others threw up their arms
and fell over backward, others went plunging backward
trying to regain their balance ; a few fell to the front,
but generally the force of the bullet prevented this,
except where it struck low, and apparently knocked the
soldier's feet from under him. Many dropped the
musket and seized the wounded part with both hands,
and a very few fell dead.

" The enemy were armed with every kind of rifle and
musket, and as their front was three times ours, we
were under a cross-fire almost from the first. The
various tunes sung by the bullets we shall never forget,
and, furthermore, shall never confound them with any
we heard later. In a moment when curiosity got the

30 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

better of fear, I took notice of this fact, and made a
record of it in my diary a day or two afterward.

" The fierce zip of the minie bullets was not promi-
nent by comparison at that particular moment, though
there were enough of them certainly. The main body
of sound was produced by the singing of slow, round
balls and buckshot fired from a smooth-bore, which do
not cut or tear the air as the creased ball does.

" Each bullet, according to its kind, size, rate of speed,
and nearness to the ear, made a different sound. They
seemed to be going past in sheets, all around and
above us."

When the war broke out, many officers on both sides,
even of high rank, were unskilled in military tactics.
Hence the art of war was rapidly learned, but at the
expense of stupid blunders and of many valuable lives.
A Confederate colonel gives the following interesting
sketch of his first battle. On entering a strip of wood,
it occurred to him that his men, being raw recruits,
would not fight well on horseback, and hence he ordered
them to dismount. This, of course, stopped the whole
body of the army behind the regiment. While the
men were leisurely tying their horses, an aide came up
at a furious gait and asked peremptorily : " What have
you stopped here for, and blocked up the whole road ? "

UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 3 1

"'You mind your business/ said the adjutant; 'our
colonel knows what he's about.'

" I saw the point in a moment, and had them move out
in the woods. In the meantime my scabbard got itself
hitched in a tangled bush. So I told the battalion to
form at the edge of the timber and wait for me. Then
I cut the straps and left my broken scabbard in the
bush, while, with naked blade flashing in my hand, I
rushed to the front. Not a man could I find. They
were anxious to see the fun, and had run over the brow
of the hill, and scattered along the whole length of the
line.

"With infinite difficulty I got them together, leaving
wide gaps in the battle array. Barely in position, I
heard a distant cannon, and at the same instant saw the
ball high in the air. As near as I could calculate, it
was going to strike about where I stood, and I dis-
mounted with remarkable agility, only to see the missile
of war pass sixty feet overhead.

" I felt rather foolish as I looked at my men, but a
good deal relieved when I saw that they, too, had all
squatted to the ground, and were none of them look-
ing at me. I quickly mounted and ordered them to
* stand up.'

"We were soon ordered to charge, and drove the

32 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

enemy through the tall prairie grass, till they came to
a creek and escaped. We passed some of the dead and
wounded, the first sad results of real war that I had
ever seen. At night the heavens opened wide, the rain
fell in torrents ; not even a campfire could be kept to
light up the impenetrable gloom, and I sought a friendly
mud-hole to sleep as best I could.

"The pale, rigid faces that I had seen turned up to
the evening sun, appeared before me, as I tried in vain
to shield my own from the driving rain, and as the big
foot of a comrade, blundering round in the darkness,
splashed my eyes full of mud, I closed them to sleep,
muttering to myself : 'And this is war.' "

Here is a brave soldier's story of how he felt during
his first battle.

" No person who was not upon the ground, and an eye-
witness of the stirring scenes which there transpired,
can begin to comprehend from a description the terrible
realities of a battle ; and even those who participated
are competent to speak only of their own personal ex-
perience. Where friends and foes are falling by scores,
and every species of missile is flying through the air,
threatening each instant to send one into eternity,
little time is afforded for more observation or reflection
than is required for personal safety.

UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 33

" The scene is one of the most exciting and exhilarat-
ing that can be conceived. Imagine a regiment passing
you at ' double-quick,' the men cheering with enthu-
siasm, their teeth set, their eyes flashing, and the whole
in a frenzy of resolution. You accompany them to the
field. They halt. An aide-de-camp passes to or from
the commanding general. The clear voices of officers
ring along the line in tones of passionate eloquence.
The word is given to march, and the body moves into
action. For the first time in your life you listen to the
whizzing of iron. Grape and canister fly into the ranks,
bomb-shells burst overhead, and the fragments fly all
around you. A friend falls ; perhaps a dozen or twenty
of your comrades lie wounded or dying at your feet ; a
strange, involuntary shrinking steals over you, which it
is impossible to resist. You feel inclined neither to
advance nor recede, but are spell-bound by the con-
tending emotions of the moral and physical man. The
cheek blanches, the lip quivers, and the eye almost
hesitates to look upon the scene.

" In this attitude you may, perhaps, be ordered to
stand an hour, inactive, havoc meanwhile marking its
footsteps with blood on every side. Finally the order
is given to advance, to fire, or to charge. And now,
what a change ! With your first shot you become

34 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

a new man. Personal safety is your least concern
Fear has no existence in your bosom. Hesitation gives
way to an uncontrollable desire to rush into the thick-
est of the fight. The dead and dying around you, if
they receive a passing thought, only serve to stimulate
you to revenge. You become cool and deliberate, and
watch the effect of bullets, the shower of bursting
shells, the passage of cannon-balls as they rake their
murderous channels through your ranks, the plunging
of wounded horses, the agonies of the dying, and the
clash of contending arms, which follows the charge,
with a feeling so calloused by surrounding circum-
stances that your soul seems dead to every sympathiz-
ing and selfish thought.

" Such is the spirit which carries the soldier through
the field of battle. But when the excitement has
passed, when the roll of musketry has ceased, the noisy
voices of the cannons are stilled, the dusky pall of
smoke has risen from the field, and you stroll over the
theatre of carnage, hearing the groans of the wounded,
discovering here, shattered almost beyond recognition,
the form of some dear friend whom only an hour before
you met in the full flush of life and happiness, —
then you begin to realize the horrors of war, and
experience a reaction of nature. The heart opens its

UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 3^

floodgates, humanity asserts herself again, and you
begin to feel.

" Friend and foe alike now receive your kindest serv-
ices. The enemy, whom, but a short time before, full
of hate, you were doing all in your power to kill, you
now endeavor to save. You supply him with water to
quench his thirst and with food to sustain his strength.
All that is human or charitable in your nature now rises
to the surface, and you are animated by that spirit of
mercy which 'blesseth him that gives and him that
takes.' A battle-field is eminently a place that tries
men's souls."

$6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

VII

LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY

A few days before our regiment received orders to
join General Lyon, on his march to Wilson's Creek, the
drummer of our company was taken sick and conveyed
to the hospital. On the night before the march, a
negro was arrested within the lines of the camp, and
brought before our captain, who asked him what
business he had within the lines. He replied : " I
know a drummer that you would like to enlist in your
company, and I have come to tell you of it." He was
immediately requested to inform the drummer that if
he would enlist for our short term of service, he would
be allowed extra pay, and to do this he must be on the
ground early in the morning.

On the following morning there appeared before the
captain's quarters during the beating of the reveille, a
middle-aged woman, dressed in deep mourning, leading
by the hand a sharp, sprightly-looking boy, apparently
about twelve or thirteen years of age. Her story was
soon told. She was from East Tennessee, where he*

LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 37

husband had been killed by the Confederates and all
their property destroyed.

During the rehearsal of her story the little fellow-
kept his eyes intently fixed upon the countenance of
the captain, who was about to express a determination
not to take so small a boy, when he spoke out : " Don't
be afraid, captain, I can drum." This was spoken with
so much confidence that the captain immediately ob-
served, with a smile : " Well, well, sergeant, bring the
drum, and order our fifer to come forward." In a few
moments the drum was produced, and our fifer, a tall,
good-natured fellow, who stood, when erect, something
over six feet in height, soon made his appearance.

Upon being introduced to his new comrade, he
stooped down, with his hands resting upon his knees,
and, after peering into the little fellow's face a moment,
he observed : " My little man, can you drum ? " — " Yes,
sir," he replied, " I drummed in Tennessee." Our fifer
immediately commenced straightening himself upward
until all the angles in his person had disappeared, when
he placed his fife at his mouth and played the " Flowers
of Edinborough," one of the most difficult things to follow
with the drum that could have been selected, and nobly
did the little fellow follow him, showing himself to be a
master of the drum. When the music ceased, our cap-
tain turned to the mother, and observed, —

38 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

" Madam, I will take your boy. What is his name ? "

" Edward Lee," she replied ; then, placing her hand
upon the captain's arm, she continued, " Captain, if he
is not killed" — here her maternal feelings overcame
her utterance, and she bent down over her boy and
kissed him upon the forehead. As she rose, she ob-
served : " Captain, you will bring him back with you,
won't you ? "

"Yes, yes," he replied, "we will be certain to bring
him back with us. We shall be discharged in six
weeks."

An hour after, our company led the Iowa First out
of camp, our drum and fife playing "The girl I left
behind me." Eddie, as we called him, soon became a
great favorite with all the men in the company. When
any of the boys had returned from a foraging excur-
sion, Eddie's share of the peaches and melons was the
first apportioned out. During our heavy and fatiguing
march, it was often amusing to see our long-legged
fifer wading through the mud with our little drummer
mounted upon his back, and always in that position
when fording streams.

During the fight at Wilson's Creek, I was stationed
with a part of our company on the right of Totten's
battery, while the balance of our company, with a part

LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 39

/>f an Illinois regiment, was ordered down into a deep
ravine upon our left, in which it was known a portion
of the enemy was concealed, with whom they were
soon engaged. The contest in the ravine continuing
some time, Totten suddenly wheeled his battery upon
the enemy in that quarter, when they soon retreated to
the high ground beHnd their lines. In less than
twenty minutes after Totten had driven the enemy
from the ravine, the word passed from man to man
throughout the army, "Lyon is killed!" and soon after,
hostilities having ceased upon both sides, the order
came for our main force to fall back upon Springfield,
while a part of the Iowa First and two companies of
the Missouri regiment were to camp upon the ground
and cover the retreat next morning. That night I was
detailed for guard duty, my turn of guard closing with
the morning call. When I went out with the officer as
a relief, I found that my post was upon a high eminence
that overlooked the deep ravine in which our men had
engaged the enemy, until Totten's battery came to
their assistance. It was a dreary, lonesome beat. The
moon had gone down in the early part of the night,
while the stars twinkled dimly through a hazy atmos-
phere, lighting up imperfectly the surrounding objects.
The hours passed slowly away, when at length the

40 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

morning light began to streak along the eastern sky,
making surrounding objects more plainly visible. Pres-
ently I heard a drum beat up the morning call. At
first I thought it came from the camp of the enemy
across the creek ; but as I listened, I found that it came
up from the deep ravine ; for a few minutes it was silent,
and then I heard it again. I listened — the sound of
the drum was familiar to me — and I knew that it was
our drummer boy from Tennessee.

I was about to desert my post to go to his assistance,
when I discovered the officer of the guard approaching
with two men. We all listened to the sound, and were
satisfied that it was Eddie's drum. I asked permission
to go to his assistance. The officer hesitated, saying
that the orders were to march in twenty minutes. I
promised to be back in that time, and he consented. I
immediately started down the hill through the thick
undergrowth, and upon reaching the valley I followed
the sound of the drum, and soon found him, seated
upon the ground, his back leaning against the trunk of
a fallen tree, while his drum hung upon a bush in front
of him, reaching nearly to the ground. As soon as he
discovered me he dropped his drumsticks and ex-
claimed, " O corporal ! I am so glad to see you. Give
me a drink, please," reaching out his hand for my can-

LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 41

teen, which was empty. I immediately turned to bring
him some water from the brook that I could hear rip-
pling through the bushes near by, when, thinking that
I was about to leave him, he began crying, saying :
" Don't leave me, corporal — I can't walk." I was
soon back with the water, when I discovered that he
was seriously wounded in both of his feet by a cannon-
ball. After satisfying his thirst, he looked up into my
face and said : " You don't think I will die, corporal, do
you ? This man said I would not — he said the sur-
geon could cure my feet." I now discovered a man
lying on the grass near him. By his dress I recognized
him as belonging to the enemy. It appeared that he
had been shot through the bowels, and fallen near
where Eddie lay. Knowing that he could not live, and
seeing the condition of the boy, he had crawled to him,
taken off his buckskin suspenders, and corded the little
fellow's legs below the knee, and then lay down and
died. While he was telling me these particulars, I
heard the tramp of cavalry coming down the ravine,
and in a moment a scout of the enemy was upon us,
and I was taken prisoner. I requested the officer to
take Eddie up in front of him, and he did so, carrying
him with great tenderness and care. When we reached
the camp of the enemy, the little fellow was dead.

42 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAK

VIII

THE COMBAT BETWEEN THE MONITOR AND

MERRIMAC

About nine o'clock on Saturday evening, March 8,
1862, Ericsson's new ironclad turret ship, the Moni-
tor, reached Fortress Monroe from New York. Every
exertion had been made by her inventor to get her out
in time to meet the Merrimac ; and the Confederates,
finding out from their spies in New York that she
would probably be ready, put a double force on their
frigate and worked day and night. It is said that this
extra labor gained that one day in which the Merrimac
destroyed the Cumberland and the Congress.

The Monitor was commanded by Lieutenant John L.
Worden. A dreadful passage of three days had almost
worn out her crew. The sea had swept over her decks ;
the turret was often the only part above water. The
tiller-rope was at one time thrown off the wheel. The
draught-pipe had been choked by the pouring down of the
waves. The men were half suffocated. The fires had
been repeatedly extinguished. Ventilation had, how*

THE MONITOR AND MH.KRIMAC 43

ever, been obtained through the turret. Throughout the
preceding afternoon, Worden had heard the sound of
the cannonading. He delayed but a few minutes at the
fortress, and soon after midnight had anchored the
Monitor alongside the Minnesota.

Day broke, a clear and beautiful Sunday. The flag
of the Cumberland was still flying. The Merrimac
approached to renew the attack. She ran down toward
the fortress, and then came up the channel through
which the Minnesota had passed. Worden at once
took his station at the peep-hole of his pilot-house, laid
the Monitor before her enemy, and gave the fire of his
two eleven-inch guns. The shot of each was one hun-
dred and sixty-eight pounds weight. Catesby Jones,
who had taken command of the Merrimac, Buchanan
having been wounded the day before, saw at once that
he had on his hands a very different antagonist from
those of yesterday. The turret was but a very small
work to fire at, nine feet by twenty ; the shot that
struck it glanced off. One bolt only, from a rifle-gun,
struck squarely, penetrating the iron. For the most
part, the shots flew over the low deck, missing their aim.

Five times the Merrimac tried to run the Monitor
down, and at each time received, at a few feet distance,
the fire of the eleven-inch guns. In her movements, at

44 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

one moment she got aground, and the light-drawing
Monitor, steaming round her, tried at every promising
point to get a shot into her. Her armor at last began
to start and bend.

Unable to shake off the Monitor, or to do her any
injury, the Merrimac now renewed her attack on the
frigate Minnesota, receiving from her a whole broadside,
which struck squarely. " It was enough," said the
commander of the frigate, "to have blown out of the
water any wooden ship in the world." In her turn, she
sent from her rifled bow-gun a shell through the Min-
nesota's side ; it exploded within her, tearing four of
her rooms into one, and setting her on fire. Another
shell burst the boiler of a tugboat which lay alongside
the Minnesota. The frigate was firing on the iron-
clad solid shot as fast as she could.

Once more the Monitor ran between them, compell-
ing her antagonist to change position, in doing which
the Confederate ram again grounded, and again re-
ceived a whole broadside from the Minnesota. The
blows she was receiving were beginning to tell upon
her. As soon as she could get clear, she ran down the
bay, followed by the Monitor. Suddenly she turned
round and attempted to run her tormentor down. Her
beak grated on the Monitor's deck and was wrenched

THE MONITOR AND MERRIMAC 4[

The turret ship stood unharmed a blow like that which
had sent the Cumberland to the bottom ; she merely
glided out from under her antagonist, and in the act
of so doing gave her a shot while almost in contact.
It seemed to crush in her armor.

The Monitor now hauled off for the purpose of hoist
mg more shot into her turret. Catesby Jones thought
he had silenced her, and that he might make another
attempt on the Minnesota. He, however, changed his
course as the Monitor steamed up, and it was seen that
the Merrimac was sagging down at the stern. She
made the best of her way back to Craney Island. The
battle was over ; the turreted Monitor had driven her
from the field and won the victory.

The Minnesota had fired two hundred and forty-seven
solid shot, two hundred and eighty-two shells, and more
than ten tons of powder. The Monitor had fired forty-
one shot, and was struck twenty-two times. The last shell
fired by the Merrimac at her struck her pilot-house
opposite the peep-hole, through which Worden at that
moment was looking. He was knocked down senseless
and blinded by the explosion. When consciousness re-
turned, the first question this brave* officer asked was :
" Did we save the Minnesota ? " The shattering of the
pilot-house was the greatest injury that the Monitor

46 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

received. On board the Merrimac two were killed and
nineteen wounded. She had lost her iron prow, her
starboard anchor, and all her boats ; her armor was dis-
located and damaged ; she leaked considerably ; her
steam-pipe and smoke-stack were riddled ; the muzzles
of two of her guns were shot away ; the wood-work
round one of the ports was set afire at every discharge.

This remarkable naval engagement excited the most
profound interest throughout the civilized world. It
seemed as if the day of wooden navies were over. Nor
was it the superiority of iron as against wood that was
settled by this combat ; it showed that a monitor was a
better construction than a mailed broadside ship, and
that inclined armor was inferior to a turret.

It may be interesting to know that the monitors
proved to have serious defects as sea-going vessels.
What became of the original Monitor ? She foundered
in a storm off Cape Hatteras during the same year.
The Merrimac was blown up by the Confederates, when
they abandoned Norfolk, in May, 1862.

A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 47

IX

A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN AN ARMY BALLOON

During General McClellan's campaign against Rich-
mond, in 1862, balloons were often used to ascertain
more accurately the position of the enemy's forces and
fortifications.

The aeronaut of the Army of the Potomac was
Professor Lowe. He had made seven thousand ascen-
sions, and his army companion was usually either an
artist, a correspondent, or a telegrapher.

A minute insulated wire reached from the car to
headquarters, and McClellan was thus informed of all
that could be seen within the Confederate works.
Sometimes they remained aloft for hours, making obser-
vations with powerful glasses, and once or twice the
enemy tested their distance with shell.

Heretofore the ascensions had been made from re-
mote places, for there was good reason to believe that
batteries lined the opposite hills ; but now, for the first
time, Lowe intended to make an ascent whereby he
could look into Richmond, count the forts encircling it,

43 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

and note the number and position of the camps that
intervened. The balloon was named the " Constitu-
tion," and looked like a semi-distended boa-constrictor,
as it flapped, with a jerking sound, and shook its oiled
and painted folds. It was anchored to the ground by-
stout ropes tied to stakes, and also by sandbags which
were hooked to its netting. The basket lay alongside ;
the generators were contained in blue wooden wagons,
marked "U. S." ; and the gas was fed to the balloon
through rubber and metallic pipes. A tent or two, a
quantity of vitriol in green and wicker carboys, some
horses and transportation teams, and several men that
assisted the inflation, were the only objects to be re-
marked. As some time was to elapse before the
arrangements were completed, I went to one of the
tents to take a comfortable nap. The professor
aroused me at three o'clock, when I found the canvas
straining its bonds, and emitting a hollow sound, as of
escaping gas. The basket was made fast directly, the
telescopes tossed into place ; the professor climbed to
the side, holding by the network ; and I coiled myself
up in a rope at the bottom.

"Stand by your cables," he said, and the bags of
ballast were at once cut away. Twelve men took each
a rope in hand, and played out slowly, letting us glide

A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 49

gently upward. The earth seemed to be falling away,
and we poised motionless in the blue ether. The tree-
tops sank downward, the hills dropped noiselessly
through space, and directly the Chickahominy was visi-
ble beyond us, winding like a ribbon of silver through
the ridgy landscape.

Far and wide stretched the Federal camps. We saw
faces turned upward gazing at our ascent, and heard
clearly, as in a vacuum, the voices of soldiers. At
every second the prospect widened, the belt of horizon
enlarged, remote farmhouses came in view ; the earth
was like a perfectly flat surface, painted with blue woods,
and streaked with pictures of roads, fields, fences, and
streams. As we rose higher, the river seemed directly
beneath us, and the farms on the opposite bank were
plainly discernible. Richmond lay only a little way off,
enthroned on its many hills, with the James stretching
white and sinuous from its feet to the horizon. We
could see the streets, the suburbs, the bridges, the out-
lying roads, nay, the moving masses of people. The
Capitol sat, white and colossal, on Shockoe Hill, the
dingy buildings of the Tredegar Works blackened the
river-side above, and, one by one, we made out familiar
hotels, public edifices, and vicinities. The fortifications
were revealed in part only, for they took the hue of the

50 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

soil, and blended with it ; but many camps were plainly
discernible, and by means of the glasses we separated
tent from tent and hut from hut. The Confederates
were seen running to the cover of the woods, that we
might not discover their numbers, but we knew the
location of their campfires by the smoke that curled
toward us.

A panorama so beautiful would have been rare at
any time, but this was thrice interesting from its past
and coming associations. Across those plains the
hordes at our feet were either to advance victoriously,
or be driven eastward with dusty banners and dripping
hands. Those white farmhouses were to be receptacles
for the groaning and the mangled ; thousands were
to be received beneath the turf of those pasture
fields ; and no rod of ground on any side that
should not, sooner or later, smoke with the blood of
the slain.

" Guess I've got 'em now, jest where I want 'em,"
said Lowe, with a gratified laugh; "jest keep still as
you mind to, and squint your eye through my glass,
while I make a sketch of the roads and the country.
Hold hard there, and anchor fast ! " he screamed to the
people below. Then he fell imperturbably to work,
sweeping the country with his hawk-eye, and letting

A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 51

nothing escape that could contribute to the complete-
ness of his jotting.

We had been but a few minutes thus poised, when
close below, from the edge of a timber stretch, puffed
a volume of white smoke. A second afterward, the air
quivered with the peal of a cannon. A third, and we
heard the splitting shriek of a shell, that passed a
little to our left, but in exact range, and burst be-
yond us in the ploughed field, heaving up the clay as
it exploded.

" Ha ! " said Lowe, "they have got us foul ! Haul in
the cables — quick ! " he shouted in a fierce tone.

At the same instant, the puff, the report, and the
shriek were repeated ; but this time the shell burst to our
right in mid-air, and scattered fragments around and
below us.

"Another shot will do the business," said Lowe be-
tween his teeth ; " it isn't a mile, and they have got the
range."

Again the puff and the whizzing shock. I closed my
eyes, and held my breath hard. The explosion was so
close that the pieces of shell seemed driven across my
face, and my ears quivered with the sound. I looked at
Lowe to see if he was struck. He had sprung to his
feet, and clutched the cordage frantically.

52 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

" Are you pulling in there, you men ? " he bellowed
with a loud imprecation.

" Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-z-z ! splutter ! " broke anothei
shell, and my heart was wedged in my throat.

I saw at a glimpse the whole bright landscape again.
I heard the voices of soldiers below, and saw them run-
ning across fields, fences, and ditches, to reach our
anchorage. I saw some drummer boys digging in the
field beneath for one of the buried shells. I saw the
waving of signal flags, the commotion through the
camps, — officers galloping their horses, teamsters
whipping their mules, regiments turning out, drums
beaten, and batteries limbered up. I remarked, last of
all, the site of the battery that alarmed us, and, by a
strange sharpness of sight and sense, believed that I
saw the gunners swabbing, ramming, and aiming the
pieces.

" Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-z-z ! splutter ! crash ! "

" Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-z-z ! splutter ! crash ! "

" My God ! " said Lowe, hissing the words slowly and
terribly, "they have opened upon us from another bat-
tery ! "

The scene seemed to dissolve. A cold dew broke
from my forehead. I grew blind and deaf. I had
fainted.

A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 53

"Throw some water in his face," said somebody.
" He ain't used to it. Hallo ! there he comes to."

I staggered to my feet. There must have been a
thousand men about us. They were looking curiously
at the aeronaut and me. The balloon lay fuming and
struggling on the clods.

" Three cheers for the Union Bal-loon ! " called a lit-
tle fellow at my side.

" Hip, hip — hoorooar ! hoorooar ! hoorooar ! "

" Tiger-r-r — yah ! whoop ! "

54

STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

The most marked characteristic of President Lin-
coln's manners was his simplicity and artlessness.

This at once impressed
itself upon the observa-
tion of those who met
him for the first time,
and each successive in-
terview deepened the
impression. People de-
lighted to find in the
ruler of the nation free-
dom from pomposity
and affectation, min-
gled with a certain sim-
ple dignity which never
forsook him, even in
the presence of critical
or polished strangers. There was always something
which spoke the fine fibre of the man. While his dis-
regard of courtly conventionalities was something ludi«

X^

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 5$

crous, his native sweetness and straightforwardness of
manner served to disarm criticism and impress the
visitor that he was before a man, pure, self -poised, col-
lected, and strong in unconscious strength.

The simple habits of Mr. Lincoln were so well known
that it is a wonder that he did not sooner lose that
precious life which he seemed to hold so lightly. He
had an almost morbid dislike for an escort, or guard, and
daily exposed himself to the deadly aim of an assassin.
" If they kill me," he once said, " the next man will be
just as bad for them ; and in a country like this, where
our habits are simple, and must be, assassination is
always possible, and will come if they are determined
upon it." A cavalry guard was once placed at the gates
of the White House for a while, and he said, privately,
that he " worried until he got rid of it."

Gentleness mixed with firmness characterized all of
Mr. Lincoln's dealings with public men. Often bitterly
assailed and abused, he never appeared to recognize the
fact that he had political enemies. His keenest critics
and most bitter opponents studiously avoided his pres-
ence. It seemed as if no man could be familiar with
his homely, heart-lighted features, his single-hearted
directness and manly kindliness, and remain long
an enemy, or be anything but his friend. It was this

56 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

warm frankness of Mr. Lincoln's manner that made a
hard-headed politician once leave the hustings where
Lincoln was speaking in 1856, saying, "I won't hear
him, for I don't like a man that makes me believe in
him in spite of myself."

" Honest old Abe " has passed into the language of
our time and country as a synonym for all that is just
and honest in man. Yet thousands of instances,
unknown to the world, might be added to those already
told of Lincoln's great and crowning virtue. This
honesty appeared to spring from religious convictions.
This was his surest refuge at times when he was most
misunderstood or misrepresented. There was some-
thing touching in his childlike and simple reliance upon
Divine aid, especially when in such extremities as he
sometimes fell into. Though prayer and reading of the
Scriptures were his constant habit, he more earnestly
than ever, at such times, sought that strength which is
promised when mortal help faileth. His address upon
the occasion of his re-inauguration has been said to be
as truly a religious document as a state-paper ; and his
acknowledgment of God and His providence are inter-
woven through all of his later speeches, letters, and
messages. Once he said : " I have been driven many
times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction

A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 57

that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and
that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day."

A certain lady lived for four years in the White
House with President Lincoln's family. She gives the
following incident of the sad days of 1863 : —

" One day, Mr. Lincoln came into the room where I
was fitting a dress on Mrs. Lincoln. His step was
slow and heavy, and his face sad. Like a tired child he
threw himself upon a sofa, and shaded his eyes with his
hands. He was a complete picture of dejection. Mrs.
Lincoln, observing his troubled look, asked, —

" * Where have you been, father ? '

" ' To the War Department,' was the brief answer.

" ' Any news ? '

" ' Yes, plenty of news, but no good news. It is dark,
dark everywhere/

" He reached forth one of his long arms and took a
small Bible from a stand near the head of the sofa,
opened the pages of the holy book, and was soon ab-
sorbed in reading them.

" A quarter of an hour passed, and, on glancing at
the sofa, I saw that the face of the President seemed
more cheerful. The dejected expression was gone, and
the countenance seemed lighted up with new resolution
and hope.

58 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

" The change was so marked that I could not hu
wonder at it, and wonder led to the desire to know
what book of the Bible afforded so much comfort to the
reader.

" Making the search for a missing article an excuse,
I walked gently around the sofa, and, looking into the
open book, I saw that Mr. Lincoln was reading that
divine comforter, Job. He read with Christian eager-
ness, and the courage and hope that he derived from
the inspired pages made him a new man.

" I almost imagined I could hear the Lord speaking
to him from out the whirlwind of battle : ( Gird up
now thy loins like a man ; for I will demand of thee,
and answer thou me.'

" What a sublime picture was this ! The ruler of a
mighty nation going to the pages of the Bible for com-
fort and courage — and finding both — in the darkest
hours of his country's calamity."

No man but President Lincoln knew how great was
the load of care which he bore, nor the amount of hard
labor which he daily accomplished. With the usual per-
plexities of his great office, he carried the burdens of the
Civil War, which 'he always called "this great trouble."
Though the intellectual man had greatly grown, mean-
time, few people would recognize the hearty, blithe-

A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 59

some, genial, and wiry Abraham Lincoln of earlier
days, with his stooping figure, dull eyes, careworn face,
and languid frame. The old, clear laugh never came
back ; his even temper was sometimes disturbed, and
his natural charity for all was often turned into ail
unwonted suspicion of the motives of men, whose selfish-
ness cost him so much wear of mind.

Lincoln did not have a hopeful temperament
Although he tried to look at the bright side of things,
he was always prepared for disaster and defeat. He
often saw success when others saw disaster ; but oftener
perceived a failure when others were elated with victory.
He was never weary of commending the patience of
the American people, which he thought something
matchless and touching. He would often shed tears
when speaking of the cheerful sacrifice of the light and
strength of so many homes throughout the land. His
own patience was marvellous. He was never crushed
at defeat or unduly elated by success. Once he said
the keenest blow of all the war was at an early stage,
when the disaster at Ball's Bluff, and the death of his
beloved friend, General Baker, smote upon him like a
whirlwind from a desert.

Mr. Lincoln loved to read the humorous writers. He
could repeat from memory whole chapters from the

60 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

chronicler of the " Mackerel Brigade," Parson Nasby,
and "Private Miles O'Reilly." These light trifles
diverted his mind, or, as he said, gave him refuge from
himself and his weariness. The Bible was a very famil-
iar study, whole chapters of Isaiah, the New Testa-
ment, and the Psalms, being fixed in his memory. He
liked the Old Testament best, and dwelt on the simple
beauty of the historical books. Of the poets, he pre-
ferred Tom Hood and Holmes, the mixture of humor
and pathos in their writings being attractive to him
beyond all other poets.

The President's love of music was something pas-
sionate, but his tastes were simple and uncultivated,
his choice being old airs, songs, and ballads, among
which the plaintive Scotch songs were best liked.
" Annie Laurie," and especially "Auld Robin Gray,"
never lost their charms for him.

He wrote slowly and with greatest deliberation, and
liked to take his time ; yet some of his despatches,
written without any corrections, were models of com-
pactness and finish. His private correspondence was
extensive. He preferred writing his letters with his
own hand, making copies himself frequently, and filing
everything away in a set of pigeon-holes in his office.
He conscientiously attended to his enormous corre-

A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 6l

spondence, and read everything that appeared to
demand his attention. Even in the busiest days of the
war, the good President found time to send his auto-
graph to every schoolboy who wrote to him for it.

"None of the artists or pictures," says Walt Whit-
man, "caught the deep, though subtle and indirect ex-
pression of Lincoln's face. There is something else
there. One of the great portrait painters of two or
three centuries ago is needed.

" Probably the reader has seen physiognomies (often
old farmers, sea-captains, and such) that, behind their
homeliness, or even ugliness, held superior points so
subtle, yet so palpable, making the real life of their
faces almost as impossible to depict as a wild perfume,
or fruit-paste, or a passionate tone of the living voice
— and such was Lincoln's face, the peculiar color, the
lines of it, the eyes, mouth, expression. Of technical
beauty it had nothing — but to the eye of a great artis'
it furnished a rare study, a feast and fascination."

62

STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XI

HOW A BOY HELPED GENERAL M'CLELLAN
WIN A BATTLE

Rich Mountain is famous as the scene where the first

decisive battle was fought in West Virginia between

General McClellan and
the Confederate General
Garnett. Rich Mountain
Range is long, narrow,
and high ; and, except
the summit, whereon is
Mr. Hart's farm, it is cov-
ered with timber densely,
save a narrow strip on one
side, which is thickly cov-
ered with laurel. The
Parkersburg and Staun-
ton pike winds round the

mountain, and passes, by the heads of ravines, directly

over its top.

The formation of the mountain-top is admirably

adapted for the erection of strong military defences;

GEORGE B. M'CLELLAN.

HOW A BOY HELPED M'CLELLAN 63

and on this account General Garnett had selected it as
a stronghold. He had erected formidable fortifications,
rendering an attack fatal to the assailing party, on the
road leading up the mountain, which was deemed the
only route by which the enemy could possibly reach his
position. General McClellan was advancing with an
army of five thousand men from Clarksburg, on the
turnpike, intending to attack Garnett early in the morn-
ing where his works crossed the road, not deeming any
other route up the mountain practicable. Had he car-
ried his plan into execution, subsequent examination
showed that no earthly power could have saved him and
his army from certain defeat. The mountain was
steep in front of the fortifications ; reconnoissance,
except in force, was impossible ; and McClellan had
determined to risk a battle directly on the road, where
Garnett, without McClellan's knowledge, had rendered
his defences impervious to any power that man could
bring against him.

Mr. Hart, whose farm is on the mountain, was a
Union man, knew the ground occupied by Garnett, and
had carefully examined his fortifications on the road
coming up the mountain. Hearing that McClellan
was advancing, and fearing that he might attempt to
scale the works at the road, he sent his little son,

64 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Joseph Hart, in the night, to meet McClellan and
inform him of the situation of affairs on the mountain.
Joseph, being but a boy, got through the Confederate
lines without difficulty, and, travelling the rest of the
night and part of the next day, reached the advanced
guard of the Union army, informed them of the object
of his coming, and was taken under guard to the gene-
ral's quarters. Young as he was, the Federal com-
mander looked upon him with suspicion. He questioned
him closely. Joseph related in simple language all his
father had told him of Garnett's position, the number
of his force, the character of his works, and the impos-
sibility of successfully attacking him on the mountain
in the direction he proposed. The general listened
attentively to his simple story, occasionally interrupting
him with, " Tell the truth, my boy." At each interrup-
tion Joseph earnestly but quietly would reply, " I am
telling you the truth, general." "But," says the latter,
" do you know, if you are not, you will be shot as a
spy ? " "I am willing to be shot if all I say is not
true," gently responded Joseph. " Well," says the
general, after being satisfied of the entire honesty of
his little visitor, "if I cannot go up the mountain by
the road, in what way am I to go up ? " Joseph, who
now saw that he was believed from the manner of his

HOW A EOY HELPED M'CLELLAN 6$

interrogator, said there was a way up the other side,
leaving the turnpike just at the foot, and going round
the base to where the laurel was. There was no road
there, and the mountain was very steep ; but he had
been up there ; there were but few trees standing, and
none fallen down to be in the way. The laurel was
very thick up the side of the mountain, and the top
matted together so closely that a man could walk on
the tops. The last statement of Joseph once more
awakened a slight suspicion of General McClellan, who
said sharply, " Do you say men can walk on the tops of
the laurel ? " "Yes, sir," said Joseph. " Do you think
my army can go up the mountain over the tops of the
laurel ? " "No, sir," promptly answered Joseph ; "but
/ have done so, and a man might if he would walk
slowly and have nothing to carry." " But, my boy,
don't you see, I have a great many men, and horses,
and cannon to take up, and how do you think we could
get up over that laurel?" "The trees are small ; they
are so small you can cut them down, without making
any noise, with knives and hatchets ; and they will not
know on the top of the mountain what you are doing
or when you are coming," promptly and respectfully
answered Joseph, who was now really to be the leader
of the little army that was to decide the political destiny
of West Virginia.

66 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

The Federal commander was satisfied with this ; and
although he had marched all day, and intended that
night to take the easy way up the mountain by the road,
he immediately changed his plan of attack, and suddenly
the army of the Union was moving away in the direc-
tion pointed out by Joseph Hart. When they came to
the foot of the mountain, they left the smooth and easy
track of the turnpike, and with difficulty wound round
the broad base of the mountain through ravines and
iigly gorges, to the point indicated by the little guide.
Here the army halted. McClellan and some of his
staff", with Joseph, proceeded to examine the nature of
the ground, and the laurel covering the mountain from
its base to its summit. All was precisely as Joseph
had described it in the general's tent on the Staunton
pike ; and the quick eye of the hero of Rich Mountain
saw at a glance the feasibility of the attack. It was
past midnight when the army reached the foot of the
mountain. Though floating clouds hid the stars, the
night was not entirely dark, and more than a thousand
knives and hatchets were soon busy clearing away
the marvellous laurel. Silence reigned throughout the
lines, save the sharp click of the small blades and the
rustle of the falling laurel. Before daybreak the nar-
row and precipitous way was cleared, and the work of

HOW A BOY HELPED m'cLELLAN 6j

ascending commenced. The horses were tied at the
foot of the mountain. The artillery horses were taken
from the carriages. One by one the cannon were taken
up the rough and steep side of the mountain by hand,
and left within a short distance of the top, in such a
situation as to be readily moved forward when the mo-
ment of attack should arrive. The main army then
commenced the march up by companies, many falling
down, but suddenly recovering their places. The ascent
was a slow and tedious one. The way was winding and
a full mile. But before daybreak all was ready, and the
Union cannon were booming upon and over the enemy's
works, nearly in the rear, at an unexpected moment, and
from an entirely unexpected quarter. They were thun-
der-struck, as well as struck by shell and canister.
They did the best they could by a feeble resistance, and
fled precipitately down the mountain, pursued by the
Federals to Cheat River, where the brave Garnett was
killed. Two hundred brave men fell on the mountain,
and were buried by the side of the turnpike, with no
other sign of the field of interment than a long indenta-
tion made by the sinking down of the earth in the line
where the bodies lay at rest.

68 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XII

OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD

One day, in the spring of 1861, Chief Sky, a Chippewa
Indian, living in the northern wilds of Wisconsin, captured
an eagle's nest. To make sure of his prize, he cut the
tree down, and caught the eaglets as they were sliding
from the nest to run and hide in the grass. One died.
He took the other home and built it a nest in a tree
close by his wigwam. The eaglet was as big as a hen,
covered with soft brown down. The red children were
delighted with their new pet ; and as soon as it got ac-
quainted it liked to sit down in the grass and see them
play with the dogs. But Chief Sky was poor, and he
had to sell it to a white man for a bushel of corn. The
white man brought it to Eau Claire, a little village alive
with men going to the war. " Here's a recruit," said
the man. " An eagle, an eagle ! " shouted the soldiers,
" let him enlist ; " and, sure enough, he was sworn into
the service with ribbons, red, white, and blue, round his
neck.

On a perch surmounted by stars and stripes, the

OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 69

company took him to Madison, the capital of the State.
As they marched into camp, with colors flying, drums
beating, and the people cheering, the eagle seized the
flag in his beak and spread his wings, his bright eye
kindling with the spirit of the scene. Shouts rent the
air : " The bird of Columbia ! the eagle of freedom for-
ever ! " The State made him a new perch, the boys named
him " Old Abe," and the regiment, the Eighth Wisconsin,
was henceforth called "the Eagle regiment." On the
march it was carried at the head of the company, and
everywhere was greeted with delight. At St. Louis, a
gentleman offered five hundred dollars for it, and
another his farm. No, no, the boys had no notion to
part with their bird. It was above all price, an emblem
of battle and of victory. Besides, it interested their
minds, and made them think less of hardships and of
home.

I cannot tell you all the droll adventures of the bird
through its three years of service, its flights in the air,
its fights with the guinea-hens, and its race with the
darkies. When the regiment was in summer quarters
it was allowed to run at large, and every morning went
to the river half a mile off, where it splashed and
played in the water to its heart's content, faithfully re-
turning to camp when it had enough. Old Abe's

JO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

favorite place of resort was the sutler's tent, where a
live chicken found no quarter in his presence. But
rations got low, and for two days Abe had nothing to
eat. Hard-tack he objected to, fasting was disagree-
able, and Tom, his bearer, could not get beyond the
pickets to a farmyard. At last, pushing his way to the
colonel's tent, he pleaded for poor Abe. The colonel
gave him a pass, and Tom got him an excellent dinner.

One day a farmer asked Tom to come and show the
eagle to his children. Satisfying the curiosity of the
family, Tom set him down in the barnyard. Oh, what
a screeching and scattering among the fowls ; for what
should Abe do but pounce upon one and gobble up
another, to the great disgust of the farmer, who de-
clared that was not the bargain. Abe thought, how-
ever, there was no harm in confiscating, nor did Tom.

He seemed to have sense enough to know that he was
a burden to his bearer on the march. He would occa-
sionally spread his wings and soar aloft to a great height,
the men all along the line of march cheering him as he
went up. He regularly received his rations from the
commissary, the same as any enlisted man. Whenever
fresh meat was scarce he would go on a foraging expedi-
tion himself. He would be gone two or three days, but
would always return, and generally with a young lamb

OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD Jl

or a chicken in his talons. However far he might fly
in search of food, he was always sure to find his regi*
ment again. In what way he distinguished the two
armies so accurately that he was never known to mis-
take the gray for the blue, no one can tell. But so it
was, that he was never known to alight save in his own
regiment, and amongst his own men.

Abe was in twenty battles, besides many skirmishes.
He was at the siege of Vicksburg, the storming of
Corinth, and marched with Sherman up the Red River.
The whiz of bullets and the scream of shell were his
delight. As the battle grew hot and hotter, he would
flap his wings and mingle his wildest notes with the
noise around him. He was very fond of music, espe-
cially " Yankee Doodle " and " Old John Brown." Upon
parade, he always gave heed to "Attention." With his
eye on the commander, he would listen and obey orders,
noting time accurately. After parade he would put off
his soldierly air, flap his wings, and make himself at
home. The Confederates called him "Yankee Buzzard,"
" Owl, Owl," and other hard names ; but his eagle
nature was quite above noticing it.

The Confederate General Price gave orders to his
men to be sure and capture the eagle of the Eighth
Wisconsin. He would rather have it than a dozen

72 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

battle-flags. But for all that he scarcely lost a feather,
only one from his right wing. His tail feathers were
once cropped by a bullet.

The shield on which he was carried, however, showed
so many marks of the enemy's bullets, that it looked
on the top as if a groove plane had been run over it.

At last the war came to an end, and the brave Wis-
consin Eighth, with its live eagle and torn and riddled
flags, was welcomed back to Madison. It went out a
thousand strong, and returned a little band, scarred and
toil-worn, having fought and won.

And what of the soldier bird ? In the name of his
gallant veterans he was presented to the State. The
Governor accepted the illustrious gift, and ample quar-
ters were provided for him in the beautiful State House
grounds.

Nor was the end yet. At the great fair in Chicago,
an enterprising gentleman invited " Abe " to attend. He
had colored photographs of the old hero struck off, and
sold many thousands of dollars' worth for the benefit of
poor and sick soldiers.

At the centennial celebration, held in Philadelphia in
1876, "Old Abe" occupied a prominent place on his
perch on the west side of the nave in the Agricultural
Building. He was still alive, though evidently growing

OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 73

old, and was the observed of all the observers. Thou-
sands of visitors, from all sections of the country, paid
their respects to the grand old bird.

The soldier who had carried him during the war con-
tinued to have charge of him after the war was over,
until the day of Old Abe's death, which occurred in
1881.

74 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XIII

A BOY'S EXPERIENCE AT THE BATTLE OF

FREDERICKSBURG

[From the " Youth's Companion."]

I was but seventeen years of age when I enlisted in
a Maine regiment. We were not brought face to face
with the enemy until December, 1862, when the great
battle of Fredericksburg was fought. The morning of
December 1 1 found us opposite Fredericksburg, which
is situated on the south side of the Rappahannock River.
We spent the entire day in watching our batteries
throwing shells over into the burning city. With the
aid of a glass we could see the enemy's works, stretch-
ing far down the river. That night their camp-fires
were plainly visible, and at times faint cheers were
wafted to us on the evening breeze.

The engineer corps was endeavoring to lay pontoon
bridges for our army to cross upon. The Confederate
sharp-shooters hotly contested the laying of the bridges,
and many a poor fellow lost his life that day. But at
last they were ready for us, and on the morning of the

vV\iryi

A BOY S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG 75

1 2th, in a dense fog, we crossed over, about two miles
below the city. Our supply of food was rather limited,
and, warned by past experiences, I dined and supped on
parched corn and hot coffee. I slept soundly upon the
frozen ground that night, and long before daybreak the
next morning the whole army was astir, and we had
cooked and eaten a hasty breakfast.

The Rappahannock River, upon whose banks we lay,
runs in a south-easterly direction. Back a distance of
about a mile rise the heights of Fredericksburg, at the
foot of which runs the railroad to Richmond ; and
behind the railroad embankment and upon the heights
were intrenched the Confederates. About half-way
between the heights and the river, and running nearly
parallel with the latter, is the Bowling Green turnpike.
The right of our line of battle extended above the city,
but we were on the left.

At sunrise our brigade began to move toward the
turnpike. We had scarcely marched a dozen yards
before the Confederates opened fire on us. I could not
refrain from laughing aloud when I saw how nimbly the
captain of my company, who had been under fire
before, dodged the shells as they came over our heads,
but I soon learned to do it myself, and then thought it
no joke. We double-quicked to the turnpike, where we

j6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

found shelter by lying flat upon our faces in a ditch,
while the shells went bursting over us with such fright-
ful noises that I hugged the earth for life. I know of
no sound so horrible as the fiendish music which comes
from the flying pieces of a burst shell.

Our batteries replied to the fire with promptness and
energy ; and the sharp and almost continuous rattle of
musketry told us that the battle was in progress. Aids
and mounted orderlies went dashing hither and thither
in hot haste, bearing orders to the various commands,
and generals with their staffs were gathered in groups
anxiously scanning the Confederate movements through
field-glasses. Great clouds of smoke settled over us,
like that from a burning city, and half obscured the
columns of men who were marching with quick step,
and " swiftly forming in the ranks of war." Bugles
blared and drums beat, and a little to my right and
front, high above the din of battle, rose the shrill cry
of some poor, wounded soul.

The first one killed in our regiment was a noble
young fellow from my company, who was struck in the
back by a spent cannon-ball. We had time to dig him
a shallow grave with our bayonets before we moved
forward.

A little after noon, word was given to prepare for the

A BOY S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG J J

advance. Between us and the Confederates, a distance
of nearly half a mile, lay an open, level field, where
corn had been planted the preceding summer. The
ground, frozen the night before, and thawed again at
midday, was miry and treacherous, and we often sank
half-way to our knees. At intervals deep ditches had
once been dug for drainage.

General R , commanding our brigade, rode down

the line and gave us words of encouragement.

"Boys," said he, "don't dodge when" — but before
he could finish the sentence a shell whizzed so close to
his head that he himself dodged very emphatically.

With a laugh he added, " But you may dodge when
they come as close as that ! "

Then we gave three cheers for our general, who, if
he did dodge, was a brave and kind man.

Now our line moved forward a dozen yards.

"Halt ! Unsling knapsacks ! Fix bayonets ! "

Then I knew we were to fight the Confederates with
cold steel.

Down the line came the order again, " Forward ! "
The bullets now began to sing angrily about our ears,
and our men began to fall. The one with whom I
touched elbows on my left was among the first victims.
The ball entered his leg with a sickening "thud,"

y8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

and he fell to the ground with a cry of " Oh, I'm

shot!"

The company to which I belonged was the "color
company," and the two brave fellows who carried the
flags, as soon as the order to move forward was given,
stepped out of the ranks in advance of the others, and
maintained that position during the charge. It was a
daring deed, for the sharp-shooters always seek to pick
off the color-bearers.

Down to this time I had felt nervous; my knees
trembled, and my legs were weak. I confess that I was
afraid ; but being afraid, and yielding to fear, are two
different things. When my mother bade me good-by,
the day my regiment left for Washington, she said, " I
shall expect always to hear that you have done your
duty." The remembrance of her pale face was, of
itself, enough to make one brave. But I needed no
such incentive ; when I saw my comrades falling on
every side, fear left me, and, young as I was, my anger
was roused, and I believe I could have fought a whole
army.

Now came the order, " Charge bayonets ! Forward,
double-quick ! " We had a quarter of a mile of muddy
ground to cross, and deep ditches to leap down into and
clamber out of in the midst of a terrible fire. With

A BOYS EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG 79

each advancing step, the fire of the Confederates in-
creased, and the air was filled with bursting shells, grape
and canister and rifle balls. So thickly did this deadly
hail fall around us that the mud and dirt were con-
stantly spattering in my face. Instinctively we bowed
our heads to this fierce storm as we swept on.

There were great gaps in our ranks, as our company,
one after another, fell under the awful fire ; but there
was no flinching, no hesitation, as with swift steps and
stern faces we swept across the few remaining yards of
ground between us and that long row of levelled rifles
from which were belching forth death and destruction.
With a wild, determined cry our regiment leaped upon
them. There was only a brief struggle, when the Con-
federates fell back up the heights, followed a short dis-
tance by our troops.

But I never reached the intrenchment myself. When
we were almost upon it, and I was grasping my rifle
firmly, expecting in a moment to use it, I found myself
flat upon the ground, and heard the captain, as the com-
pany passed over my body, shout, " Lay low, boy ! "
Then I realized that I had been hit. For a few mo-
ments I lay perfectly still ; then I determined to make
a desperate effort to get off the field, for I feared our
men might be driven back again.

SO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

I dared not examine my wound lest I should faint,
and so fall into the hands of the Confederates. Finding
that I could make some progress by using my rifle as a
support, I slowly and painfully dragged myself to the
rear. The battle was still raging behind me with un-
abated force, and the shot and shells from our own, as
well as the Confederate batteries, were passing over my
head with a deafening noise. On every side lay the
dead and wounded, and the groans and appeals for help
were pitiful to hear.

At last I reached the turnpike, and beneath its shel-
ter I first examined the nature of my injury. I was
overjoyed to find that the supposed wound was only a
very severe bruise. An army cup which I carried on
the outside, and a tin plate and my stock of hard bread
which were inside my knapsack, had saved me. The
force of the bullet was such that it had taken a piece
clear out of the cup, which was made of thick mate-
rial ; and it passed through the plate and the hard
bread, and did not fairly enter my flesh. I still have
the piece which was torn from my cup.

I was sent to the hospital for a few days, until I could
march again.

As I had surmised, the survivors of our regiment
were finally driven back from the position they had, at

A BOY'S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG 8 1

so fearful a cost, won. When the sixty rounds of
ammunition which were in their cartridge-boxes had
been fired away, and no fresh cartridges were sent,
there was nothing left for them to do but to fall back.

From the time our regiment left the turnpike, on the
charge, until it returned, was, I think, hardly an hour.
We started on with less than five hundred men, and in
that brief time we lost, in killed, wounded, and missing,
over two hundred and fifty, more than one-half. My
own company lost thirty-three out of fifty.

Some years ago I revisited the battle-field. The
bodies of the fallen had been gathered into the soldiers'
cemetery just back of the city, and near the deadly
stone wall where the right of our army was engaged. I
walked down the turnpike to where we fought. Nature
had obliterated nearly every sign of the conflict, and
the miry field across which we charged on that eventful
December day was covered with waving corn. The sun
shone as clearly, the birds sang as sweetly, and the
flowers bloomed as brightly, as if that field had never
been ploughed with shot and shell, and fertilized with
the blood of brave men.

82

STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XIV

THE STORY OF SHERIDAN'S FAMOUS RIDE

The stirring lines of Buchanan Read's well-known
poem called " Sheridan's Ride" are familiar as household

words to the boys and
girls of our day. This
poem has been read
and recited for many
years by American
school children. It
has always been a
favorite, for it records
in verse the gallant
deed of one of the
most brilliant and suc-
cessful generals in the
war for the Union.
The victory gained by General Sheridan at Cedar
Creek, Va., October 19, 1864, surpassed in interest the
victory gained precisely one month earlier at Winches-
ter. It was a victory following upon the heels of
apparent reverse, and therefore reflecting peculiar

PHILIP H. SHERIDAN.

sheridan's famous ride 83

credit on the brave commander to whose timely
arrival upon the field the final success of the day must
be attributed.

The general was at Winchester in the early morning
when the enemy attacked — twenty miles distant from
the field of operations. General Wright was in com-
mand. The enemy had approached under cover of a
heavy fog, and, flanking the extreme right of the
Federal line, held by General Crook's corps, and at-
tacking in the centre, had thrown the entire line into
confusion, and driven it several miles. The enemy
was pushing on, turning against the Union forces a
score of guns already captured from them.

Sheridan's victorious and hitherto invincible army was
routed and in disorderly retreat before a confident enemy.
The roads were crowded with wagons and ambulances
hurrying to the rear, while the fields were alive with
wounded, stragglers, and disorganized troops without offi-
cers, without arms, and without courage — all bent on
being the first to carry the news of the disaster back to
Winchester.

" Up from the south, at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away."

84 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

A brave nucleus of the army, which had not shared
in the surprise and subsequent demoralization, was
fighting with determined pluck to prevent disaster from
becoming disgrace. The universal thought, and, in
varying phrase, the spontaneous utterance, was : " Oh,
for one hour of Sheridan ! " But Sheridan was twenty
miles away, at Winchester, where he had arrived the
day before from Washington.

At this juncture, those who were stationed near the
Winchester pike heard, far to the rear, a faint cheer go
up, as a hurrying horseman passed a group of wounded
soldiers, and dashed down that historic road toward the
line of battle. As he drew nearer, it was seen that the
coal-black horse was flecked with foam, both horse and
rider grimed with dust, and the dilated nostrils and
laboring breath of the former told of a race both long
and swift.

" But there is a road to Winchester town,
A good, broad highway, leading down ;
And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed, as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight :
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with his utmost speed."

A moment more, and a deafening cheer broke from
the troops in that part of the field, as they recognized

sheridan's famous ride 85

m the coming horseman the looked-for Sheridan.
Above the roar of musketry and artillery, that shout
arose like a cry of victory. The news flashed from
brigade to brigade along the front with telegraphic
speed ; and then, as Sheridan, cap in hand, dashed
along the rear of the straggling line, thus confirming
to all eyes the fact of his arrival, a continuous cheer
burst from the whole army. Hope took the place of
fear, courage the place of despondency, cheerfulness the
place of gloom. The entire aspect of things seemed
changed in a moment. Further retreat was no longer
thought of. Order came out of chaos, an army out of a
rabble.

Sheridan's leadership perfectly restored the courage
and spirit of the army. It had got over its panic, and
was again ready for business. Generals rode out to
meet him, officers waved their swords, and men threw
up their caps.

General Custer, discovering Sheridan at the moment
he arrived, rode up to him, threw his arms around his
neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Waiting for no
other parley than simply to exchange greeting, and to
say, " This retreat must be stopped ! " Sheridan broke
loose and began galloping down the lines, along the
whole front of the army. Everywhere the enthusiasm
caused by his appearance was the same.

86 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

" And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because
The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray.
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils1 play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say :
' I have brought you Sheridan, all the way
From Winchester down, to save you the day ! ' "

The line was speedily reformed ; provost-marshals
brought in stragglers by the scores ; the retreating
army turned its face to the foe. An attack just about
to be made by the latter was repulsed, and the tide of
battle turned. Then Sheridan's time was come. A
cavalry charge was ordered against right and left flank
of the enemy, and then a grand advance of the three
infantry corps from left to right on the enemy's centre.
On through Middletown, and beyond, the Confederates
hurried, and the Army of the Shenandoah pursued.
The roar of musketry now had a gleeful, dancing sound.
The guns fired shotted salutes of victory. Custer and
Merritt, charging in on right and left, doubled up the
flanks of the foe, taking prisoners, slashing, killing,
driving as they went. The march of the infantry was
more majestic and terrible. The lines of the foe
swayed and broke before it everywhere. Beyond
Middletown, on the battle-field fought over in the morn-
ing, their columns were completely overthrown and dis-

Sheridan's famous ride Sy

organized. They fled along the pike and over the fields
like sheep.

Thus on through Strasburg with two brigades of cav-
alry at their heels. Two thousand prisoners were
gathered together, though there was not a sufficient
guard to send them all to the rear. The guns lost in
the morning were recaptured, and as many more taken,
making fifty in all, and, according to Sheridan's report,
the enemy reached Mount Jackson without an organized
regiment. The scene at Sheridan's headquarters at
night after the battle was wildly exciting. General
Custer arrived about nine o'clock. The first thing he
did was to hug General Sheridan with all his might,
lifting him in the air, and whirling him around and
around, with the shout : " God be praised, we've
cleaned them out and got the guns ! " Catching sight
of General Torbert, Custer went through the same
proceeding with him, unti? Torbert was forced to cry
out : "There, there, old fellow, don't capture me ! "

Sheridan's ride to the front, October 19, 1864, will go
down in history as one of the most important and thrill-
ing events which have ever given interest to a battle
scene. Stripped of all poetic gloss, and analyzed after
more than a quarter of a century of peace, the result
achieved by Sheridan's matchless generalship, after he

8$ STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

reached his shattered army on the field of Cedar Creek,
as an illustration of the wonderful influence of one man
over many, and as an example of snatching a great
victory from an appalling defeat, still stands without a
parallel in history.

" Hurrah, hurrah, for Sheridan !
Hurrah, hurrah, for horse and man !
And when their statues are placed on high,
Under the dome of the Union sky —
The American soldier's Temple of Fame —
There with the glorious general's name,
Be it said, in letters both bold and bright :
1 Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester twenty miles away ! ' "

THE CAVALRY CHARGE 89

XV

THE CAVALRY CHARGE

With bray of the trumpet

And roll of the drum,
And keen ring of bugles,

The cavalry come.
Sharp clank the steel scabbards,

The bridle-chains ring,
And foam from red nostrils

The wild chargers fling.

Tramp ! tramp ! o'er the green sward

That quivers below,
Scarce held by the curb-bit,

The fierce horses go !
And the grim-visaged colonel,

With ear-rending shout,
Peals forth to the squadrons

The order, "Trot out!"

90 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

One hand on the sabre,

And one on the rein,
The troopers move forward

In line on the plain.
As rings the word " Gallop ! "

The steel scabbards clank,
And each rowel is pressed

To a horse's hot flank ;
And swift is their rush

As the wild torrent's flow,
When it pours from the crag

On the valley below.

" Charge ! " thunders the leader.

Like shaft from the bow
Each mad horse is hurled

On the wavering foe.
A thousand bright sabres

Are gleaming in air ;
A thousand dark horses

Are dashed on the square.

Resistless and reckless
Of aught may betide,

Like demons, not mortals,
The wild troopers ride.

THE CAVALRY CHARGE 91

Cut right ! and cut left !

For the parry who needs ?
The bayonets shiver

Like wind-shattered reeds !

Vain — vain the red volley

That bursts from the square —
The random-shot bullets

Are wasted in air.
Triumphant, remorseless,

Unerring as death, —
No sabre that's stainless

Returns to its sheath.

The wounds that are dealt

By that murderous steel
Will never yield case

For the surgeons to heal.
Hurrah ! they are broken — ■

Hurrah ! boys, they fly-^
None linger save those

Who but linger to die.

Rein up your hot horses,

And call in your men ;
The trumpet sounds " Rally

To color " again.

92 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Some saddles are empty,
Some comrades are slain,

And some noble horses
Lie stark on the plain ;

But war's a chance game, boys,
And weeping is vain.

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 93

XVI

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE

One of the most daring and successful exploits of
the late war was performed by a brave and intrepid
young naval officer. To Lieutenant William B. Crush-
ing was due the destruction of the famous Confederate
ram called the Albemarle. This powerful ironclad had
become a formidable obstruction to the occupation of
the North Carolina sounds by the Union forces.

During the summer of 1864, Lieutenant Cushing,
commanding the Monticello, one of the sixteen vessels
engaged in watching the ram, conceived the plan of
destroying their antagonist by means of a torpedo.
Upon submitting the plan to Rear-Admiral Lee and the
Navy Department, he was detached from his vessel,
and sent to New York to provide the articles necessary
for his purpose, and, these preparations having been at
last completed, he returned again to the scene of action.
His plan was to affix his newly contrived torpedo appa-
ratus to one of the picket launches — little steamers
not larger than a seventy-four's launch, but fitted with

94 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

a compact engine, and designed to relieve the seamen
of the fatigue of pulling about at night on the naval
picket line — and of which half a dozen had been then
recently built. Under Lieutenant Cushing's super-
vision, picket launch No. i was supplied with the tor-
pedo, which was carried in a basket, fixed to a long
arm, which could be propelled, at the important mo-
ment, from the vessel, in such a manner as to reach the
side of the vessel to be destroyed, there to be fastened,
and exploded at the will of those in the torpedo boat,
without serious risk to themselves. Having prepared
his boat, he selected thirteen men, six of whom were
officers, to assist him in the undertaking. His first at-
tempt to reach the Albemarle failed, as his boat got
aground and was only with difficulty released. On the
following night, however, he again set out upon his
perilous duty, determined and destined this time to
succeed. Moving cautiously, with muffled oars, up the
narrow Roanoke, he skilfully eluded the observation of
the numerous forts and pickets with which that river
was lined, and, passing within twenty yards of a picket
vessel, without detection, he soon found himself abreast
of the town of Plymouth. The night was very dark
and stormy, and, having thus cleared the pickets, the
launch crossed to the other side of the river, opposite

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 95

the town, and, sweeping round, came down upon the
Albemarle from up the stream. The ram was moored
near a wharf, and, by the light of a large campfire on
the shore, Cushing saw a large force of infantry, and
also discerned that the ironclad was protected by a
boom of pine logs which extended about twenty feet
from her. The watch on the Albemarle knew nothing
of his approach till he was close upon them, when they
hailed, "What boat is that?" and were answered,
"The Albemarle's boat;" and the same instant the
launch struck, "bows on," against the boom of logs,
crushing them in about ten feet, and running its bows
upon them. She was immediately greeted with a heavy
and incessant infantry fire from the shore, while the
ports of the Albemarle were opened, and a gun trained
upon the daring party. Cushing promptly replied with
a dose of canister, but the gallant young fellow had
enough for one man to manage. He had a line at-
tached to his engineer's leg, to pull in lieu of bell
signals ; another line to detach the torpedo, and
another to explode it ; besides this, he managed the
boom which was to place the torpedo under the vessel,
and fired the howitzer with his own hand. But he
coolly placed the torpedo in its place and exploded it.
At the same moment he was struck on the right wrist

g6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

with a musket ball, and a shell from the Albemarle
went crashing through the launch. The whole affair
was but the work of a few minutes. Each man had
now to save himself as best he might. Cushing threw
off his coat and shoes, and, leaping into the water, struck
out for the opposite shore ; but, the cries of one of his
drowning men attracting the enemy's fire, he turned
down the stream. The water was exceedingly cold, and
his heavy clothing rendered it very difficult for him to
keep afloat ; and after about an hour's swimming he went
ashore, and fell exhausted upon the bank. On coming
to his senses, he found himself near a sentry and two
officers, who were discussing the affair, and heard them
say that Cushing was dead. Thinking that he had
better increase the distance between the rebels and
himself, he managed to shove himself along on his
back, by working with his heels against the ground,
until he reached a place of concealment.

After dark, he proceeded through the swamp for some
distance, lacerating his feet and hands with the briers
and oyster shells. He next day met an old negro whom
he thought he could trust. The negro was frightened
at Cushing's wild appearance, and tremblingly asked
who he was. "I am a Yankee," replied Cushing, "and
I am one of the men who blew up the Albemarle."

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 97

" My golly, massa!" said the negro, " dey kill you if
dey catch you ; you dead gone sure ! " Cushing asked
him if he could trust him to go into the town and bring
him back the news. The negro assented, and Cushing
gave him all the money he had and sent him off. He
then climbed up a tree and opened his jack-knife, the
only weapon he had, and prepared for any attack which
might be made.

After a time the negro came back, and, to Cushing's
joy, reported the Albemarle sunk and the people leav-
ing the town. Cushing then went farther down the
river, and found a boat on the opposite bank belonging
to a picket guard. He once more plunged into the
chilly river and detached the boat, but, not daring to
get into it, left it drift down the river, keeping himself
concealed. At last, thinking he was far enough away
to elude observation, he got into the boat and paddled
for eight hours until he reached the squadron. After
hailing them, he fell into the bottom of the boat, utterly
exhausted by hunger, cold, fatigue, and excitement, to
the surprise of the people in the squadron, who were
somewhat distrustful of him when he first hailed, think
ing him a rebel who was trying some trick.

Nothing, indeed, but an overruling Providence and an
iron will ever saved Cushing from death. He saw two

98 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

of his men drown, who were stronger than he, and said
of himself that when he paddled his little boat his arms
and his will were the only living parts of his organization.

One man of the party returned, having been picked
up after he had travelled across the country and been
in the swamps nearly two days.

But one or two were wounded, and the larger part
were captured by the rebels, being unable to extricate
themselves from their perilous position among the logs
of the boom, under the guns of the ram. The Albe-
marle had one of her bows stove in by the explosion of
the torpedo, and sank at her moorings within a few mo-
ments, without loss of life to her crew. Her fate
opened the river to the Union forces, who quickly occu-
pied Plymouth ; the North Carolina sounds were again
cleared from rebel craft, and the large fleet of vessels
which had been occupied in watching the ironclad were
released from that arduous duty.

Lieutenant Cushing, to whose intrepidity and skill
the country was indebted for this and many other dash-
ing exploits, was engaged in thirty-five naval combats
during the war. What a glorious record for a young
man twenty-three years old ! He died at the age of
thirty-two, the youngest officer of his rank in the United
States Navy.

THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG 99

XVII

THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG

[From Henry Ward Beecher^s "Norwood."]

On the third day of July, 1863, and the third of the
complex battle of Gettysburg, General Lee, having in
vain assaulted the left of the Union line on the day
before, determined to break through the centre, and
at the same time to enlarge the hold which he had
secured upon the extreme Union right, on the eastern
slope of Culp's Hill. But by four in the morning Gen-
eral Meade attacked the intrusive forces which had
thus, while yesterday's battle raged on the extreme left,
as it were, stolen in on the right, and by eleven o'clock
they were driven out, thus anticipating and defeating
Lee's intention of turning the Union right.

A wonderful silence now came over the vast battle-
field and brooded for the space of two hours. Birds sang
again, though the ground beneath them was covered
with unburied men. The rustling of leaves could be
heard once more by the men who lay resting under the
trees. But the very silence, that usually brings all

IOO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

thoughts of peace, now sharpened men's fears. It was
like that dreadful calm which precedes the burst of
storms. Just such it was. At one o'clock it was
broken by an uproar as wonderful as had been the
silence. Two hundred and thirty-five cannon joined in
a clangor of death, such as had never been heard upon
this continent. Lee had concentrated a hundred and
forty-five guns over against the centre of Cemetery
Ridge, and Meade replied with eighty guns — all that
could be well placed in his narrower space. The other
battle before seemed noiseless compared with this
immense cannonading. The slopes of Oak Ridge and
the swells upon the further side of the valley seemed
on fire. Each little hill-top became a volcano. From
the right, from the left, from the centre, battery upon
battery, and parks of batteries flamed and thundered.
The smoke rolled up white and bluish gray, as storm-
clouds lift and roll up the sides of mountains. From
every direction came the flying missiles — cross-plough-
ing Cemetery Hill with hideous furrows, in which to
plant dead men. Shot flew clear over the ridge — cais-
sons sheltered behind the hill were reached and blown
up. Horses standing harnessed to reserved artillery, in
places before secure, were smitten down. Strange was
the discordant music of the missile sounds, for which

THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG IOI

there were no pauses, that filled the air. Some went
hissing, some flew with muffled growl, some shook out
a gushing sound like the rush of waters ; some carried
with them an intense and malignant howl ; some spit
and sputtered in a spiteful manner ; others whirred or
whistled, or spun threads of tenor or treble sounds.
But, whatever the variety in this awful aerial music, all
meant death. If a thousand meteors had burst, and
each one flung down shattered masses of meteoric stone,
it would have scarcely seemed more like a deluge of
iron rain than now it did. Orderlies and aids found the
roads and fields on the far side of the hill, safe before,
now raining with bullets. Meade's headquarters were
riddled, and his staff driven to another quarter. In
half an hour all the fields were cleared and the men
were under cover. Fortunately, the enemy's artillery
was elevated too much. The Union soldiers escaped
with comparatively little harm, while the reverse of the
hill was excoriated with shot and shell. In the burial-
ground on the head of Cemetery Ridge, projecting
toward the village of Gettysburg, fell the iron hail,
rending the graves and splintering the monuments.
Flowers growing on graves were rudely picked by
hurtling iron. Soldiers who had fallen at Fair Oaks,
and had been brought here for burial, far away from all

102 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

thought of battle, in this quiet Pennsylvania vale, were
still pursued by war, which rudely tore up their graves ;
and they heard again the thunder of battle swelling
above these resting-places, where, it would seem, they
should have found quiet.

When it had thundered and rained iron for more than
two hours, there came moving across the valley fifteen
thousand men to take possession of that ridge ! As
they moved from afar the Union artillery smote them ;
but they did not heed it. As they drew near, still rent
by shot and shell, — earnest, eager, brave, — there burst
upon their right flank a fire of musketry and artillery
that quite crumpled up and swung back their men upon
their centre. Next, their left wing was utterly riddled
and routed by the sharpness of the musketry ; and what
part was not captured fled and escaped. But the mass-
ive centre, with men as brave as ever faced death, stern,
headlong, pushed right up to General Hancock's lines,
and across them, but could come no further ! Like a
ship whose impetus carried it far up upon a shoal, from
which it cannot recede when it would, several brigades
had shot, by the terrible momentum, so far up that
when from the slopes of the cemetery, and from the
artillery on Meade's left wing, they were enfiladed, while
Hancock, with fresh brigades drawn from his left, met

THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG IO3

them in front with a fire that pierced like a flame, they
yielded themselves up. They had gotten the hill for
which they came, but not as victors. The rest shrunk,
driven backward, sharply raked with artillery and
scorched with sheets of musketry, got them out of the
battle, and fled across the valley to their lines, whence
they should come no more out hitherward. Many that
longed to go with them lay with pitiful wounds. A
thousand that an hour before were fierce in ambitious
expectation, now and never more cared what befell
them, nor what happened under the sun ! When the
sun went down on that 3d of July, the Union army, a
mighty sufferer in more than twenty thousand slain and
wounded men, yet had never such cause of rejoicing for
the coming anniversary day as now, when all those
thousands of men joyfully had died or suffered wounds
to preserve that nation's life whose birthday is cele-
brated on the Fourth of July !

The morning of Saturday, the Fourth of July, rose fair
over Gettysburg. Ewell's corps of Lee's army with-
drew from the town, and Howard's troops immediately
took possession.

There was great joy throughout the Union arm;:.
Officers congratulated each other ; the men were raised
to the proudest exultation. The Army of the Potomac,

104 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

the victim of misfortunes, but always a model of in-
domitable patience, had at length met their great
antagonist in a long and severe fight, and thoroughly
defeated him. While all were exhilarated with the
immediate victory, the thoughtful men of the army
experienced a deeper gladness in their prescience
of the scope of this victory in its relation to public
affairs. The climax was reached. Henceforward the
Confederate cause was subject to decline, weakness,
and extinction.

Lincoln's Gettysburg speech 105

XVIII

LINCOLN'S GETTYSBURG SPEECH

When Abraham Lincoln had gained the people's ear,
men noticed that he scarcely made a speech or wrote a
state paper in which there was not an illustration or a
quotation from the Bible. He had been thoroughly
instructed in it by his mother. It was the one book
always found in the pioneer's cabin, and to which she,
being a woman of deep religious feeling, turned for
sympathy and guidance. Out of it she taught her boy
to spell and read, and with its poetry, histories, and
principles she so familiarized him that they always
influenced his subsequent life.

In the good President's religious faith two leading
ideas were prominent from first to last — man's help-
lessness, both as to strength and wisdom, and God's
helpfulness in both.

To a friend who anxiously asked him in the dark
days of 1862: "Do you think we shall succeed?" he
said, "I believe our cause is just; I believe that we
shall conquer in the end. I should be very glad to take

IOO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

my neck out of the yoke and go back to my old home
and my old life at Springfield. But it has pleased
Almighty God to place me in this position ; and, looking
up to Him for support, I must discharge my destiny as
best I can."

The words of Lincoln seemed to grow more clear and
more remarkable as they approached the end. His last
inaugural was characterized by a solemn religious tone,
peculiarly free from earthly passion. Listen to his
words : " With malice toward none, with charity for all,
with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the
right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind
up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have
borne the battle, and for his widow and orphans, to do
all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting
peace among ourselves and with all nations."

Perhaps in no language, ancient or modern, are any
number of words found more touching and eloquent
than his speech of November 19, 1863, at the Gettys-
burg celebration.

He wrote it in a few moments on being told that he
would be expected to make some remarks. After
Edward Everett had delivered his masterly oration,
President Lincoln rose and read the following brief
address : —

LINCOLN S GETTYSBURG SPEECH I07

" Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought
forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in
liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men
are created equal. We are engaged in a great civil war,
testing whether that nation — or any nation so con-
ceived and so dedicated — can long endure. We are met
on a great battle-field of that war. We are met to
dedicate a portion of that field as the final resting-place
of those who here gave their lives that that nation
might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we
should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedi-
cate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this
ground. The brave men, living and dead, who strug-
gled here, have consecrated it far above our power to
add or detract. The world will little note, nor long
remember, what we say here ; but it can never forget
what they did here.

" It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here
to the unfinished work which they have thus far so
nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedi-
cated to the great task remaining before us ; that from
these honored dead we take increased devotion to that
cause for which they here gave the last full measure of
devotion ; that we here highly resolve that these dead
shall not have died in vain ; that this nation shall, under

108 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

God, have a new birth of freedom ; and that govern-
ment of the people, by the people, for the people, shall
not perish from the earth."

The audience admired Everett's long address, but at
Mr. Lincoln's few and simple words they cheered, and
sobbed, and wept. When the President had ended, he
turned and congratulated the distinguished orator from
the Old Bay State on having succeeded so well. Mr.
Everett replied with a truthful and real compliment :
" Ah, Mr. Lincoln, how gladly would I exchange all my
hundred pages, to have been the author of your twenty
lines." Time has tested the strength of this short,
simple address. After more than a quarter of a cent-
ury, its glowing words are still being committed to
memory by young people throughout our broad land.

THE BLACK REGIMENT IO9

XIX

THE BLACK REGIMENT

[George H. Boker. Port Hudson, La., June, 1863.]

Dark as the clouds of even,
Ranked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dread mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land ; —
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event,
Stands the Black Regiment.

Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine ;
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command

110 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the Black Regiment.

" Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
" Though death and hell betide,
Let the whole nation see
If we are fit to be
Free in this land ; or bound
Down, like the whining hound, —
Bound with red stripes of pain
In our old chains again ! "
Oh, what a shout there went
From the Black Regiment !

" Charge ! " Trump and drum awoke,
Onward the bondmen broke ;
Bayonet and sabre-stroke
Vainly oppose their rush.
Through the wild battle's crush,
With but one thought aflush,
Driving their lords like chaff,
In the guns' mouths they laugh ;
Or at the slippery brands
Leaping with open hands,

THE BLACK REGIMENT III

Down they tear man and horse,
Down in their awful course ;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel,
All their eyes forward bent,
Rushed the Black Regiment.

"Freedom ! " their battle-cry —
" Freedom ! or leave to die ! "
Ah ! and they meant the word,
Not as with us 'tis heard,
Not a mere party shout :
They gave their spirits out ;
Trusted the end to God,
And on the gory sod
Rolled in triumphant blood.

Glad to strike one free blow,
Whether for weal or woe ;
Glad to breathe one free breath.
Though on the lips of death.
Praying — alas ! in vain ! —
That they might fall again,
So they could once more see
That burst to liberty !
This was what "freedom " lent
To the Black Regiment.

112 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Hundreds on hundreds fell ;
But they are resting well ;
Scourges and shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.

Oh, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true !
Hail them as comrades tried ;
Fight with them side by side ;
Never, in field or tent,
Scorn the Black Regiment.

TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL II3

XX

TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL

The scout must be a man with a cool head, resolute
will, and nerves of steel. Such a man was a scout
named Hancock, attached to General Grant's army in
Virginia. He was captured as a spy and sent to Castle
Thunder in Richmond. This bold scout was remark-
able for his facial expression and powers of mimicry.
He was a jolly fellow, and often relieved the monotony
of prison life with merry song and dances.

One evening, while singing a song for the amuse-
ment of his fellow-prisoners, he suddenly stopped, threw
up his hands, staggered, and then fell like a bag of sand
to the floor.

There was great confusion among the men, and as
some of them inspected the body and pronounced it
without life, the guards were notified of what had oc-
curred.

The post surgeon was called in to say whether it was
a faint or a case of sudden death. It happened that he
had just come in from a long, cold ride, and he was

114 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

tired and in a hurry to get to his quarters, so his exam-
ination was hardly more than a look at the man.

" Dead ! " he said, as he rose up, and in the course of
twenty minutes the body was deposited in a wagon to
be sent to the hospital, and there laid in a cheap coffin
and forwarded to the burying-place.

When the driver reached the end of his journey the
body was gone !

There was no tail-board to his vehicle, and, thinking
he might have jolted the body out on the way, he drove
back and made inquiry of several persons if they had
seen a lost corpse anywhere.

Hancock's "sudden death" was a part of his plan to
make an attempt to escape. While he had great nerve
and an iron will, his being so quickly passed by the sur-
geon was a surprise to him, for he knew he could hardly
have passed under less favorable circumstances.

On the way to the hospital he had dropped out of the
wagon and joined the pedestrians on the walk. When
the driver returned to the Castle and told his story, a
detail of men was at once sent out to capture the tricky
prisoner, and the alarm was given.

To leave the city was to be picked up by a patrol ; to
remain in it was to be hunted down. Hancock had
money sewed in the lining of his vest, and he walked

TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL I 1 5

straight to the best hotel, registered himself as from
Georgia, and took a good night's sleep.

In the morning he procured a change of clothing, and
sauntered around the city with the greatest unconcern,
carrying the idea to some that he was in Richmond on
a government contract, and to others that he was in the
secret service of the Confederacy.

Shortly after dinner he was arrested on Main Street
by a squad of provost troops, who had his description
to a dot. But no sooner had they put hands on him
than the prisoner was seen to be cross-eyed and to have
his mouth drawn to one side.

The men were bewildered, and Hancock was feeling
for " letters to prove his identity," when the hotel-
clerk happened to pass and at once secured his liberty.

Four days after his escape from the Castle, the scout
found himself out of money, and while in the corridor
of the post-office he was again arrested.

This time he drew his mouth to the right, brought a
squint to his left eye, and pretended to be very deaf.
He was, however, taken to the Castle, and there a won-
derful thing occurred.

Guards who knew Hancock's face perfectly well were
so confused by his squint that no man dared give a cer-
tain answer.

Il6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Prisoners who had been with him for four months
were equally at fault, and it was finally decided to lock
him up and investigate his references.

For seven long days the scout kept his mouth twisted
around and his eye on the squint, and then he got tired
of it and resumed his accustomed phiz.

The minute he did this he was recognized by every-
body, and the Confederates admired his nerve and per-
severance fully as much as did his fellow-prisoners.

The close of the war gave him his liberty with the
rest, but ten days longer would have seen him shot as a
spy.

Scout number two was on the Confederate side. He
is now a leading clergyman in Virginia. His life was
one of daring adventure and hairbreadth escapes.
Once upon a time, the house in which he was hid was
surrounded by a detachment of Union soldiers. The
scout took in everything at a glance and determined to
try to cut his way through the soldiers and risk the
chances. But the ladies represented to him that this

was certain death. They could conceal him, and S

assented.

The young ladies acted promptly. One ran to the
window and asked who was there, while another closed
the back door — that in front being already fastened.

TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OP >TEEL 117

— was then hurried up the staircase, one of the

ladies accompanying him to show him his hiding-place.

The Federal troops became impatient. The door was
burst in and the troopers swarmed into the house.

S had been conducted to a garret bare of all fur-
niture, but some planks lay upon the sleepers of the
ceiling, and by lying down on these a man might con-
ceal himself. He mounted quietly and stretched him'
self at full length, and the young lady returned to the
lower floor. From his perch the scout then heard aV
that was said in the hall beneath.

"Where is the guerilla?" exclaimed the Federal
officer.

"What guerilla?" asked one of the ladies.

"The rascal S ."

" He was here, but he has gone."

" That is untrue," the officer said, " and I am not to
be trifled with. I shall search this house. But first
read the orders to the men," he added, turning to a
sergeant.

The sergeant obeyed, and S distinctly overheard

the reading of his death-warrant. The paper chronicled
his exploits, denounced him as a guerilla and bush-
whacker, and directed that he should not be taken alive.

Thi» was not reassuring to the scout concealed under

Il8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

the rafters above. It was probable that he would be
discovered, in which case death would follow.

There was but one thing to do — to sell his life dearly.
After ransacking every room on the first and second
floors, the troops ascended to the garret. The ladies
had attempted to divert their attention from it, but one
of them asked, —

" What room is that up there ? "

"The garret," was the reply.

" He may be there — show the way."

" You see the way," returned the young lady. " I do
not wish to go up in the dust ; it would soil my dress."

" You go before, then," said the trooper to a negro
girl who had been made to carry a lighted candle, for
night had come now.

The girl laughed and said, there was nobody up
there, but at the order went up-stairs to the garret, fol-
lowed by the troopers.

S heard the tramping feet, and cocked both his

pistols. The light streamed into the garret, and he saw
the garret filled with troopers. His discovery seemed
certain. He was about to spring down and fire, when
the men growled, —

" There's nothing here," and went down the stairs
again.

TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL I 19

The servant girl had saved him by a ruse. She had
taken her stand directly beneath the broad plank upon

which S was extended, and the deep shadow had

concealed him. To this ruse he doubtless owed his life.
An hour afterward the Federal detachment left in ex-
treme ill-humor, and before morning S was miles

away from the dangerous locality where he had over-
heard his sentence of death.

120 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXI

THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH

In the early part of 1863, when the Union army was
encamped at Falmouth, and picketing the banks of the
Rappahannock, the utmost tact and ingenuity were dis-
played by the scouts and videttes, in gaining a knowl-
edge of contemplated movements on either side ; and
here, as at various other times, the shrewdness of the
colored camp-followers was remarkable.

One circumstance in particular shows how quick
the race is in learning the art of communicating by
signals.

There came into the Union lines a negro from a farm
on the other side of the river, known by the name of
Dabney, who was found to possess a remarkably clear
knowledge of the topography of the whole region ; and
he was employed as cook and body-servant at head-
quarters. When he first saw our system of army tele-
graphs, the idea interested him intensely, and he begged
the operators to explain the signs to him. They did so,
and found that he could understand and remember the

THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH 121

meaning of the various movements as well as any of
his brethren of paler hue.

Not long after, his wife, who had come with him, ex-
pressed a great anxiety to be allowed to go over to the
other side as servant to a " secesh woman," whom Gen-
eral Hooker was about sending over to her friends.
The request was granted. Dabney's wife went across
the Rappahannock, and in a few days was duly installed
as laundress at the headquarters of a prominent rebel
general. Dabney, her husband, on the north bank, was
soon found to be wonderfully well informed as to all the
Confederate plans. Within an hour of the time that a
movement of any kind was projected, or even discussed,
among the Confederate generals, Hooker knew all about
it. He knew which corps was moving, or about to move,
in what direction, how long they had been on the march,
and in what force ; and all this knowledge came through
Dabney, and his reports always turned out to be true.

Yet Dabney was never absent, and never talked with
scouts, and seemed to be always taken up with his
duties as cook and groom about headquarters.

How he obtained his information remained for some
time a puzzle to the Union officers. At length, upon
much solicitation, he unfolded his marvellous secret to
one of the officers.

122 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Taking him to a point where a clear view could be
obtained of Fredericksburg, he pointed out a little
cabin in the suburbs near the river bank, and asked him
if he saw that clothes-line with clothes hanging on it to
dry. " Well," he said, " that clothes-line tells me in half
an hour just what goes on at Lee's headquarters. You
see my wife over there ; she washes for the officers, and
cooks, and waits around, and as soon as she hears about
any movement or anything going on, she comes down
and moves the clothes on that line so I can understand
it in a minute. That there gray shirt is Longstreet ;
and when she takes it off it means he's gone down
about Richmond. That white shirt means Hill ; and
when she moves it up to the west end of the line, Hill's
corps has moved up-stream. That red one is Stonewall
Jackson. He's down on the right now, and if he moves
she will move that red shirt."

One morning Dabney came in and reported a move-
ment over there. "But," said he, "it don't amount to
anything. They are just making believe."

An officer went out to look at the clothes-line tele-
graph through his field-glass. There had been quite a
shifting over there among the army flannels. "But
how do you know but there is something in it ? "

" Do you see those two blankets pinned together at the

THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH 123

bottom ? " said Dabney. " Yes ; but what of it ?" said
the officer. " Why, that's her way of making a fish-
trap ; and when she pins the clothes together that way,
it means that Lee is only trying to draw us into his
fish-trap."

As long as the two armies lay watching each other on
opposite sides of the stream, Dabney, with his clothes-
line telegraph, continued to be one of the promptest
and most reliable of General Hooker's scouts.

124 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXII

COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA

During the war, the Confederates, with the aid of the
British ship-builders, sent out several powerful vessels
which played sad havoc with American merchantmen
and whalers. These vessels were furnished with the
best cannon known and the most improved shells. The
most famous of these privateers was the Alabama,
which captured sixty-five vessels, and destroyed many
million dollars' worth of property. She was built in
England, and, notwithstanding the protest of the
American Minister, was allowed to go to sea in July,
1862. She sailed for the Azores under the name of the
290. She was supplied with her armament and stores
by another British ship, and, shortly after putting to sea,
Semmes, the former captain of the privateer Sumter,
appeared on deck in full uniform as her captain.

After these long years it is not easy to realize the
dismay excited among our merchants by the singularly
successful career of the famous Alabama. After cap-
turing and burning many vessels, she returned to

COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA 125

Europe in the summer of 1864, and went into a French
port.

Let me now tell you of the memorable naval contest
between the United States vessel Kearsarge, Captain
John A. Winslow, and the Alabama, Captain Raphael
Semmes, on the morning of June 19, 1864, off Cher-
bourg, France, which ended the career of the famous
Confederate privateer.

The Kearsarge was lying at Flushing, Holland, when
a telegram came from Mr, Dayton, the American Min-
ister in Paris, stating that the Alabama had arrived at
Cherbourg. The Kearsarge immediately put to sea,
and arrived at Cherbourg in quick time, taking the Ala-
bama quite by surprise by so sudden an appearance on
her track. Through the consular agent there a sort of
challenge was received by Captain Winslow from Cap-
tain Semmes, the latter stating that if the Kearsarge
remained off the port he would come out and fight her,
and that he would not detain the vessel long.

After cruising off the port for five days, until the
19th of June, Captain Winslow, at twenty minutes after
ten o'clock, descried the starry ensign of the Alabama
floating in the breeze, as she came boldly out of the
western entrance, under the escort of the French iron-
clad Couronne. The latter retired into port after see-

126 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

ing the combatants outside of French waters. Captain
Winslow had previously had an interview with the
admiral of Cherbourg, assuring him that in the event
of an action occurring with the Alabama, the position
of the ship should be so far off shore that no question
would be advanced about the line of jurisdiction.

The Alabama came down at full speed until within a
distance of about three-quarters of a mile, when she
opened her guns on the Kearsarge. The Kearsarge
made no reply for some minutes, but ranged up nearer,
and then opened her starboard battery, fighting six guns
and leaving only one thirty-two-pounder idle. The
Alabama fought seven guns, working them with the
greatest rapidity, sending shot and shell in a constant
stream over her adversary. Both vessels used their
starboard batteries, the ships being manoeuvred in a
circle about each other at a distance of from five hun-
dred to one thousand yards. Seven complete circles
were made during the combat, which lasted a little over
one hour. At the last of the action, when the Alabama
would have made off, she was near five miles from the
shore ; and, had the combat continued from the first in
parallel lines, with her head in-shore, the line of juris-
diction would, no doubt, have been reached. From the
first, the firing of the Alabama was rapid and wild ;

COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA 127

towards the close of the action her firing became
better. The Kearsarge gunners, who had been cau-
tioned against firing rapidly without direct aim, were
much more deliberate ; and the instructions given to
point the heavy guns below rather than above the water
line, and clear the deck with lighter ones, was fully ob-
served.

Captain Winslow had endeavored, with a port helm,
to close in with the Alabama ; but it was not until just
before the close of the action that she was in position
to use grape. This was avoided, however, by the Ala-
bama's surrender. The effect of the training of the
Kearsarge' s men was evident ; nearly every shot from
the guns told fearfully on the Alabama, and on the
seventh rotation in the circular track she winded, set-
ting fore-trysail and two jibs, with head in-shore. Her
speed was now retarded, and by winding, her port broad-
side was presented to the Kearsarge, with only two
guns bearing, having been able to shift over but
one. Captain Winslow now saw that she was at his
mercy, and a few more guns, well directed, brought
down her flag, though it was difficult to ascertain
whether it had been hauled down or shot away ; but a
white flag having been displayed over the stern, the fire
of the Kearsarge was reserved.

128 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Two minutes had not more than elapsed before the
Alabama again opened fire on the Kearsarge, with the
two guns on the port side. This drew Captain Winslow's
fire again, and the Kearsarge was immediately steamed
ahead and laid across her bows for raking. The white
flag was still flying and the Kearsarge's fire was again
reserved. Shortly after this, her boats were to be seen
lowering, and an officer in one of them came alongside
and stated that the ship had surrendered and was fast
sinking. In twenty minutes from this time the Ala-
bama went down, her mainmast, which had been shot,
breaking near the head as she sunk, and her bow rising
high out of the water, as her stern rapidly settled.

A few years after the war, as you will read in your
text-book of history, a court of arbitration decreed that
Great Britain should pay $15,500,000 to the United
States for permitting the Confederate cruisers to fit
out in the English ports. These claims are commonly
called the Alabama claims, from the name of the Con-
federate vessel which did the most harm to our
shipping.

THE MESSAGE OF LIFB 1 29

XXIII
THE MESSAGE OF LIFE

[From The Youth's Companion]

Twenty-five years ago I was one of many witnesses
of a scene that left a deep impression upon my memory.
The sequel of the story, which I learned some months
afterward, is narrated here with the principal event.

It was in February, 1865. I was a staff-officer of a
division of the Union army stationed about Winchester,
Virginia. I had succeeded in getting leave of absence
for twenty days. Reaching Harper's Ferry by rail
after dark, I found, to my great disappointment, that
the last train for the day for Baltimore had left, and
that the next train would start at five o'clock on the
following morning. I gave a small reminder to the
negro servant at the hotel, and received his solemn
promise that he would arouse me at four o'clock. It
must have been two o'clock when sleep visited my
weary eyes. A rude disturbance at my door awakened
me, and I became dimly conscious of the voice of the
negro outside.

130 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAB

" What is it ? " I cried testily. " What do you wake
me up for at this time of night ? "

" 'Deed, sah, Ise sorry ; 'pon my honah, I is, sah ! but
de train hab done gone dese two hours."

It was even so. Broad daylight — seven o'clock in
the morning — the train gone, and no chance to get out
of Harper's Ferry till twelve more precious hours of my
leave had passed — this was the unpleasant situation to
which I awoke upon that dreary February morning.
Breakfast over, I strolled around the queer old place
merely to while away the time.

I went back to the hotel after an hour's stroll, wrote
some letters, read all the newspapers I could find about
the place, and shortly after eleven o'clock went out
again. This time my ear was greeted with the music
of a band, playing a slow march. Several soldiers were
walking briskly past, and I inquired of them if there
was to be a military funeral.

" No, sir," one of them replied ; " not exactly. It is
an execution. Two deserters from one of the artillery
regiments here are to be shot up on Bolivar Heights.
Here they come ! "

The solemn strains of the music were heard near at
hand, and the cortege moved into the street where we
stood, and wound slowly up the hill. First came the

THE MESSAGE OF LIFE I3I

band ; then General Stevenson, the military command-
ant of the post, and his staff ; then the guard, preced-
ing and following an ambulance, in which were the
condemned men. A whole regiment followed, marching
by platoons, with reversed arms, making in the whole a
spectacle than which nothing can be more solemn.

Close behind it came, as it seemed to me, the entire
population of Harper's Ferry : a motley crowd of sev-
eral thousand, embracing soldiers off duty, camp-fol-
lowers, negroes, and what not. It was a raw, damp
day, not a ray of sunlight had yet penetrated the thick
clouds, and underfoot was a thin coating of snow.

The spot selected for the dreadful scene was rather
more than a mile up the heights, where a high ridge of
ground formed a barrier for bullets that might miss
their mark. Arrived here, the troops were formed in
two large squares of one rank each, one square within
the other, with an open face towards the ridge. Two
graves had been dug near this ridge, and a coffin was
just in the rear of each grave. Twenty paces in front
was the firing party of six files, under a lieutenant, at
ordered arms ; the general and his staff sat on their
horses near the centre.

Outside the outer square, the great crowd of specta-
tors stood in perfect silence. The condemned men had

132 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

been brought from the ambulance, and each one sat on
his coffin, with his open grave before him.

They were very different in their aspect. One, a
man of more than forty years, showed hardly a trace of
feeling in his rugged face ; but the other was a mere
lad of scarcely twenty, who gazed about him with a
wild, restless look, as if he could not yet understand
that he was about to endure the terrible punishment of
his offence.

The proceedings of the court-martial were read,
reciting the charges against these men, their trial, con-
viction, and sentence ; and then the order of General
Sheridan approving the sentence, " to be shot to death
with musketry," and directing it to be carried into
effect at twelve o'clock, noon, of this day.

A chaplain knelt by the condemned men and prayed
fervently, whispered a few words in the ear of each,
wrung their hands, and retired. Two soldiers stepped
forward with handkerchiefs to bind the eyes of the suf-
ferers, and I heard the officer of the firing party give
the command in a low tone, —

" Attention ! — shoulder — arms " "

I looked at my watch ; it was a minute past twelve.
The crowd outside had been so perfectly silent that a
flutter and disturbance running through it at this

THE MESSAGE OF LIFE I33

instant fixed everybody's attention. My heart gave a
great jump as I saw a mounted orderly urging his horse
through the crowd, and waving a yellow envelope over
his head.

The square opened for him, and he rode in and
handed the envelope to the general. Those who were
permitted to see that despatch read the following :

Washington, D. C, February 23, 1865.
General Job Stevenson, Harper's Ferry > — Deserters re-
prieved till further orders. Stop the execution.

A. Lincoln.

The older of the two men had so thoroughly resigned
himself to his fate that he seemed unable now to realize
that he was saved, and he looked around him in a dazed,
bewildered way.

Not so the other ; he seemed for the first time to
recover his consciousness. He clasped his hands
together, and burst into tears. As there was no mili-
tary execution after this at Harper's Ferry, I have no
doubt that the sentence of both was finally commuted.

Powerfully as my feelings had been stirred by this
scene, I still suspected that the despatch had, in fact,
arrived before the cortege left Harper's Ferry, and that
all that happened afterward was planned and intended
as a terrible lesson to these culprits.

134 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

That afternoon I visited General Stevenson at his
headquarters, and, after introducing myself and refer-
ring to the morning's scene, I ventured frankly to state
my suspicions, and ask if they were not well founded.

"Not at all," he instantly replied. "The men would
have been dead had that despatch reached me two
minutes later. In order to give the fellows every possi-
ble chance for their lives, I left a mounted orderly at
the telegraph office, with orders to ride at a gallop if a
message came for me from Washington. It is well I
did ! — the precaution saved their lives."

How the despatch came to Harper's Ferry must be
told in the words of the man who got it through.

THE TELEGRAPHER'S STORY.

On the morning of the 24th of February, 1865, I
was busy at my work in the Baltimore telegraph office,
sending and receiving messages. At half-past ten
o'clock — for I had occasion to mark the hour — the
signal C — A — L, several times repeated, caused me
to throw all else aside and attend to it.

That was the telegraphic cipher of the War Depart-
ment ; and telegraphers, in those days, had instructions
to put that service above all others. A message was
quickly ticked off from the President to the commanding

THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 1 35

officer at Harper's Ferry, reprieving two deserters who
were to be shot at noon. The message was dated
the day before, but had in some way been detained
or delayed between the Department and the Wash-
ington office.

A few words to the Baltimore office, which accom-
panied the despatch, explained that it had " stuck " at
Baltimore, that an officer direct from the President was
waiting at the Washington office, anxious to hear that
it had reached Harper's Ferry, and that Baltimore must
send it on instantly.

Baltimore would have been very glad to comply ; but
the line to Harper's Ferry had been interrupted since
daylight ; nothing whatever had passed. So I explained
to Washington.

The reply came back before my fingers had left the
instrument. " You imist get it through. Do it, some
way, for Mr. Lincoln. He is very anxious ; has just
sent another messenger to us."

I called the office superintendent to my table, and
repeated these despatches to him. He looked at the
clock.

"Almost eleven," he said. "I see just one chance
— a very slight one. Send it to New York : ask them
to get it to Wheeling, and then it may get through by

I36 STORIES OF THE CI VIE WAR

Cumberland and Martinsburg. Stick to 'em, and do
what you can."

By this time I had become thoroughly aroused in the
business, and I set to work with a will. The despatch
with the explanation went to New York, and promptly
came the reply that it was hopeless ; the wires were
crowded, and nothing could be done till late in the after-
noon, if then,

I responded just as Washington had replied to me:
It must be done ; it is a case of life and death ; do it
for Mr. Lincoln's sake, who is very anxious about it.
And I added for myself, by way of emphasis : For
God's sake, let's save these poor fellows !

And I got the New- York people thoroughly aroused,
as I was myself. The answer came back, "Will do
what we can."

It was now ten minutes past eleven. In ten minutes
more I heard from New York that the despatch had got
as far as Buffalo, and could not go direct to Wheeling ;
it must go on to Chicago.

Inquiries from Washington were repeated every five
minutes, and I sent what had reached me.

Half-past eleven, the despatch was at Chicago,
and they were working their best to get it to
Wheeling.

THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 1 37

Something was the matter ; the Wheeling office did
not answer.

The next five minutes passed without a word ; then
— huzza ! — New York says the despatch has reached
Wheeling, and the operator there says he can get it
through to Harper's Ferry in time.

At this point the news stopped. New York could
learn nothing further for me, after several efforts, and
I could only send to Washington that I hoped it was
all right, but could not be sure. Later in the day the
line was working again to Harper's Ferry, and then I
learned that the despatch had reached the office there
at ten minutes before twelve, and that it was brought to
the place of execution just in time.

5&

STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXIV

SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA

[From General Sherman's "Personal Memoirs."]

About seven o'clock, on the morning of November
1 6, 1864, we rode out of Atlanta by the Decatur road,

filled by the marching
troops and wagons of the
Fourteenth Corps ; and
reaching the hill, just out-
side of the old Confederate
works, we naturally paused
to look back upon the
scenes of our last battles.
We stood upon the very
ground where was fought
the bloody battle of July
22, and could see the copse
of wood where McPherson fell. Behind us lay Atlanta,
smouldering and in ruins, the black smoke rising high in
the air, and hanging like a pall over the city. Away off
in the distance, on the McDonough road, was the rear

WILLIAM T. SHERMAN.

wmmA ,

SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA 1 39

of Howard's column, the gun-barrels glistening in the
sun, the white-topped wagons stretching away to the
south ; and right before us the Fourteenth Corps,
marching steadily and rapidly with a cheery look and
swinging pace, that made light of the thousand miles
that lay between us and Richmond. Some band, by
accident, struck up the anthem of " John Brown's soul
goes marching on," the men caught up the strain, and
never, before or since, have I heard the chorus of
"Glory, glory, hallelujah ! " done with more spirit, or in
better harmony of time and place.

Then we turned our horses' heads to the east.
Atlanta was soon lost behind the screen of trees, and
became a thing of the past. Around it clings many a
thought of desperate battle, of hope and fear, that now
seems like the memory of a dream ; and I have never
seen the place since. The day was extremely beautiful,
clear sunlight, with bracing air; and an unusual feeling
of exhilaration seemed to pervade all minds, a feeling of
something to come, vague and undefined, still full of
venture and intense interest. Even the common sol-
diers caught the inspiration, and many a group called
out to me as I worked my way past them, " Uncle
Billy, I guess Grant is waiting for us at Richmond ! "
Indeed the general sentiment was that we were march-

I4O STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

ing for Richmond, and that there we should end the
war ; but how and when they seemed to care not, nor
did they measure the distance, or count the cost in life,
or bother their brains about the great rivers to be
crossed, and the food required for man and beast, that
had to be gathered by the way. There was a " devil-
may-care " feeling pervading officers and men, that
made me feel the full load of responsibility, for success
would be accepted as a matter of course, whereas,
should we fail, this "march" would be adjudged the
wild adventure of a crazy fool. I had no purpose to
march direct for Richmond by way of Augusta and
Charlotte, but always designed to reach the seacoast
first at Savannah or Port Royal, South Carolina, and
even kept in mind the alternative of Pensacola.

The first night out we camped by the roadside.
Stone Mountain, a mass of granite, was in plain view
cut out in clear outline against the blue sky ; the whole
horizon was lurid with the bonfires of rail-ties, and
groups of men all night were carrying the heated rails
to the nearest trees and bending them around the
trunks. Colonel Poe had provided tools for ripping up
the rails and twisting them when hot ; but the best and
easiest way is the one I have described, of heating the
middle of the iron rails on bonfires made of the cross-

SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA I4I

ties, and then winding them around a telegraph-pole or
the trunk of some convenient sapling. I attached much
imoortance to this destruction of the railroad, gave it
my own personal attention, and made reiterated orders
to others on the subject.

The next day we passed through the handsome town
of Covington, the soldiers closing up their ranks, the
color-bearers unfurling their flags, and the bands strik-
ing up patriotic airs. The white people came out of
their houses to behold the sight, spite of their deep
hatred of the invaders, and the negroes were simply
frantic with joy. Whenever they heard my name, they
clustered about my horse, shouted and prayed in their
peculiar style, which had a natural eloquence that would
have moved a stone. I have witnessed hundreds, if not
thousands, of such scenes, and can now see a poor girl,
in the very ecstasy of hugging the banner of one of the
regiments.

I remember, when riding around by a by-street in
Covington to avoid the crowd that followed the march-
ing column, that some one brought me an invitation to
dine with a sister of Sam Anderson, who was a cadet
at West Point with me ; but the messenger reached me
after we had passed the main part of the town. I
asked to be excused, and rode on to a place designated

I42 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

for camp about four miles to the east of the town.
Here we made our bivouac, and I walked up to a plan-
tation-house close by, where were assembled many
negroes, among them an old, gray-haired man, with as
fine a head as I ever saw. I asked him if he under-
stood about the war and its progress. He said he did ;
that he had been looking for the " angel of the Lord "
ever since he was knee-high, and, though we professed
to be righting for the Union, he supposed that slavery
was the cause, and that our success was his freedom.
I asked him if all the negro slaves comprehended this
fact, and he said they did surely. I then explained
to him that we wanted the slaves to remain where they
were and not to load us down with useless mouths,
which would eat up the food needed for our fighting
men ; that our success was their assured freedom ; that
we could receive a few of their young, hearty men as
pioneers ; but that, if they followed us in swarms of old
and young, feeble and helpless, it would simply load us
down and cripple us in our great task. I believe that
old man spread this message to the slaves, which was
carried from mouth to mouth, to the very end of our
journey, and that in part saved us from the great dan-
ger we incurred of swelling our numbers so that famine
would have attended our progress. It was at this very

SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA 1 43

plantation that a soldier passed me with a ham on his mus-
ket, a jug of sorghum molasses under his arm, and a big
piece of honey in his hand, from which he was eating, and,
catching my eye, he remarked sotto voce and carelessly to
a comrade, " Forage liberally on the country," quoting
from my general orders. On this occasion, as on many
others that fell under my personal observation, I re-
proved the man, explained that foraging must be limited
to the regular parties properly detailed, and that all
provisions thus obtained must be delivered to the regu-
lar commissaries to be fairly distributed to the men who
kept their ranks.

144 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXV

SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA

[By Samuel H, M. Byers]

[This popular song was written while its author was a prisoner at Columbia,
S. C. Of its origin he says : " There are hundreds of old comrades who remem-
ber the afternoon in the prison-pen at Columbia when our glee club said, ' Now we
are going to sing something about Billy Sherman ! ' and with what rousing cheers
the song and the writer were welcomed. The Confederate officers ran in to see
what was loose among the prisoners, and they, too, had music in their souls, and
said if the glee club would sing ' Dixie Land ' they might sing ' Sherman's March
to the Sea' also; and so for weeks our glee club — the only sunshine we had in
prison — made the old barrack walls ring with songs of the blue and the gray.''"]

Our campfires shone bright on the mountain

That frowned on the river below,
As we stood by our guns in the morning,

And eagerly watched for the foe ;
When a rider came out of the darkness

That hung over mountain and tree,
And shouted, " Boys, up and be ready !

For Sherman will march to the sea ! "

Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman

Went up from each valley and glen,
And the bugles re-echoed the music

That came from the lips of the men ;
For we knew that the stars in our banner

More bright in their splendor would be,
And that blessings from Northland would greet us

When Sherman marched down to the sea.

SHERMAN S MARCH TO THE SEA I45

Then forward, boys ! forward to battle !

We marched on our wearisome way,
We stormed the wild hills of Resaca —

God bless those who fell on that day !
Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory,

Frowned down on the flag of the free ;
But the East and the West bore our standard,

And Sherman marched on to the sea.

Still onward we pressed, till our banners

Swept out from Atlanta's grim walls,
And the blood of the patriot dampened

The soil where the traitor flag falls ;
We paused not to weep for the fallen

Who slept by each river and tree,
Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel,

As Sherman marched down to the sea.

Oh, proud was our army that morning,

That stood where the pine darkly towers,
When Sherman said, " Boys, you are weary,

But to-day fair Savannah is ours ! "
Then sang we the song of our chieftain,

That echoed o'er river and lea,
And the stars in our banner shone brighter

When Sherman marched down to the sea.

I46 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXVI

THE PERILS OF A SPY'S LIFE

The life of a spy is one full of peril and hardship.
The danger incurred is often more serious and personal
than that of the battle-field. He is sent by his supe-
riors to discover, if possible, the enemy's plans, in
order to thwart them. The spy goes to his duty fully
aware of the possibilities in store for him. If the
enemy catches him, he knows that in a few hours his
dead body will dangle from a tree. Listen to the story
of the narrow escape of one of the most daring spies
of the Army of the Potomac.

" It was a dark night. Not a star on the glimmer. I
had collected my bits of intelligence, and was on the
move for the Union lines. I was approaching the
banks of a stream whose waters I had to cross, and had
then some miles to traverse before I could reach the
pickets of our gallant troops. A feeling of uneasiness
began to creep over me ; I was on the outskirt of a
wood fringing the dark waters at my feet, whose pres-
ence could scarcely be detected but for their sullen

THE PERILS OF A SPY S LIFE 147

murmurs as they rushed through the gloom. The wind
sighed in gentle accordance. I walked forty or fifty
yards along the bank. I then crept on all fours along
the ground, and groped with my hands. I paused — I
groped again — my breath thickened, perspiration oozed
from me at every pore, and I was prostrated with hor-
ror ! I had missed my landmark, and knew not where
I was. Below or above, beneath the shelter of the
bank, lay the skiff I had hidden ten days before.

"As I stood gasping for breath, with all the unmis-
takable proofs of my calling about me, the sudden cry
of a bird or plunging of a fish would act like mag-
netism on my frame, not wont to shudder at a shadow.
No matter how pressing the danger may be, if a man
sees an opportunity for escape, he breathes with free-
dom. But let him be surrounded by darkness, impene-
trable at two yards' distance, within rifle's length of
concealed foes, for what knowledge he has to the con-
trary ; knowing, too, with painful accuracy, the detec-
tion of his presence would reward him with a sudden
and violent death ; and if he breathes no faster, and
feels his limbs as free and his spirits as light as when
taking a favorite promenade, he is more fitted for a
hero than I am.

" In the agony of that moment — in the sudden and

I48 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

utter helplessness I felt to discover my true bearings —
I was about to let myself gently into the stream, and
breast its current, for life or death. There was no
alternative. The Union pickets must be reached in
safety before the morning broke, or I should soon
swing between heaven and earth, from some green limb
of the black forest in which I stood.

"At that moment the low, sullen bay of a blood-
hound struck my ear. The sound was reviving — the
fearful stillness broken. The uncertain dread flew
before the certain danger. I was standing to my
middle in the shallow bed of the river, just beneath the
jutting banks. After a pause of a few seconds I began
to creep mechanically and stealthily down the stream,
followed, as I knew from the rustling of the grass and
frequent breaking of twigs, by the bloodthirsty dog ;
although, by certain uneasy growls, I felt assured he
was at fault. Something struck against my breast. I
could not prevent a slight cry from escaping me, as,
stretching out my hand, I grasped the gunwale of a boat
moored beneath the bank. Between surprise and joy I
felt half choked. In an instant I had scrambled on
board, and began to search for the painter in the bow,
in order to cast her from her fastenings.

" Suddenly, a bright ray of moonlight — the first

THE PERILS OF A SPY S LIFE 149

gleam of hope in that black night — fell directly on the
spot, revealing the silvery stream, my own skiff (hidden
there ten days before), lighting the deep shadows of the
verging wood, and, on the log half buried in the bank,
and from which I had that instant cast the line that had
bound me to it, the supple form of the crouching blood-
hound, his red eyes gleaming in the moonlight, jaws
distended, and poising for the spring. With one dart
the light skiff was yards out in the stream, and the
savage after it. With an oar I aimed a blow at his head,
which, however, he eluded with ease. In the effort thus
made the boat careened over towards my antagonist,
who made a desperate effort to get his forepaws over
the side, at the same time seizing the gunwale with his
teeth.

"Now was the time to get rid of my canine foe.
I drew my revolver, and placed the muzzle between his
eyes, but hesitated to fire, for that one report might
bring on me a volley from the shore. Meantime, the
strength of the dog careened the frail craft so much
that the water rushed over the side, threatening to
swamp her. I changed my tactics, threw my revolver
into the bottom of the skiff, and, grasping my ' bowie,'
keen as a Malay creese, and glittering, as I released it
from the sheath, like a moonbeam on the stream, in

I50 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

an instant I had severed the sinewy throat of the hound,
cutting through brawn and muscle to the nape of the
neck. The tenacious wretch gave a wild, convulsive
leap half out Of the water, then sank, and was gone.

" Five minutes' pulling landed me on the other side
of the river, and in an hour after, without further acci-
dent, I was among friends, encompassed by the Union
lines. That night I related at headquarters the intelli-
gence I had gathered."

Not often does the spy escape from his enemies
so easily. A staff officer thus describes the death
of a spy, who had been caught by one of General Cus-
ter's officers in a village near Cedar Creek, Virginia :

" 'What's the matter ? ' said I to Custer, who was sit-
ting with his staff round the campfire. ' You seem sad.'

" ' I have reason to be. I fear we have a disagreeable
duty to perform. You know we captured a man in the
village.'

" ' Yes. What of him ? '

"'Only that my adjutant-general has just recognized
him as one of the Confederate guards who escorted him
and other Federals when they were taken prisoners.
He has gone with two other officers, who were captured
at the same time, to see the prisoner.'

THE PERILS OF A SPY S LIFE 1 5 1

:* ' You think, then, the fellow is a spy ? '

" 'That's just it ; and a dangerous one, too, judging
from his looks.'

" At that moment the three officers came up to make
their report.

" ' Well, gentlemen,' said Custer, ' what do you think
of the prisoner ? '

"'We all recognized him as one of our old guards,'
said the adjutant.

" * Very well, gentlemen,' said Custer slowly. ' The
evidence seems to be clear. Adjutant, order the pris-
oner to be brought before me.'

" The prisoner was brought up between two sentries.
4 My man, we think you are a spy,' said General Custer,
in a quiet voice. ' What have you to say to the
charge ? '

" ' There's a woman here from the village,' replied
the man, ' and she'll tell you I am her son. I live in
the village. Does that make me a spy ? '

" An elderly woman, evidently in some terror, came
forward.

" ' Is this man your son ? '

"'Yes, he is.'

"'How long has he been in the village?'

" 'Ever since last spring.'

152 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

" ■ Does he belong to the Southern army ? '

"'I dunno.'

"At this moment an orderly handed the adjutant-gen-
eral a bundle, and whispered a word in his ear. Quietly
unrolling it, the adjutant brought out a Confederate uni-
form.

" ' General,' said he, ' this uniform was found in the
woman's house where we captured the prisoner.'

" A sudden flash in the man's face, a swift look of
anger, and a glance between him and the woman
was the only answer either made to the announce-
ment.

"'That will do; remove the woman,' said Custer
gravely.

"The woman gazed for a moment into the face of the
prisoner, but it was evident that she was not his mother.
She made no effort to bid him farewell.

" ' My man, it's a clear case. You are a soldier of the
Confederate army, and inside our lines in disguise.
You are therefore a spy. It is my duty to inform you
that you must die,'

" ' Die ? What ! without a trial ? ' exclaimed the
startled prisoner.

"'You have just been tried. I, as a United States
general, have condemned you as a spy. You die at

THE PERILS OF A SPY S LIFE 153

eight to-morrow morning. I will send the chaplain to
you, and I hope you will prepare to meet your fate.'

"At the appointed hour the next morning the poor
fellow was brought out and hanged, in the presence of
the entire brigade."

154

STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXVII

HOW ADMIRAL FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE
RIGGING

Some day you will read all about the brilliant naval
fight for the possession of Mobile Bay. The brave

Admiral Farragut had de-
termined to make the at-
tempt on Thursday, August
4, 1864, but was delayed
because one of his ironclads
did not arrive. The vessel
arrived at sunset, and Far-
^ ragut gave orders for the
fleet to move at sunrise.
The day opened with a
dense fog which hid the
forts in the bay, and made
the great men-of-war and
black ironclads look like so many phantoms. The
fog soon lifted, and at an early hour the whole fleet
was under way. Now was fought one of the most
brilliant naval contests of modern times. By this vie-

DAVID G. FARRAGUT.

HOW FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE RIGGING 155

tory the port of Mobile was closed against blockade-
runners.

During the fight an incident happened which caught
the public fancy at the time, and has since become fixed
in the popular mind as an incident of deep historical
interest for all time.

At the beginning of the action, Admiral Farragut
was standing in the main port rigging, which position
enabled him to overlook the other vessels of the fleet.
It also gave him command of both his own flagship and
the Metacomet. The latter vessel was lashed on to the
port side of the Hartford, for the purpose of carrying
the flagship inside the bay in case her machinery should
be disabled. A slight breeze was blowing the smoke
from the Union guns on to Fort Morgan. Soon the
smoke gradually obscured the admiral's view, and he
almost unconsciously climbed the rigging, ratline by
ratline, in order to see over it, until finally he found
himself in shrouds, some little distance below the
main-top. Here he could lean either backward or foi
ward in a comfortable position, having the free use *.
both hands for his spyglass, or any other purpose
Captain Drayton, commanding the Hartford, also chic
of staff to the admiral, becoming anxious lest even a
slight wound, a blow from a splinter, or the cutting

I56 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

away of a portion of the rigging, might throw his chief
to the deck, sent the signal-quartermaster aloft with a
small rope to secure him to the rigging. The admiral
at first declined to allow the quartermaster to do this,
but quickly admitted the wisdom of the precaution, and
himself passed two or three turns of the rope around
his body. The admiral remained aloft until after the
flagship had passed Fort Morgan.

After the passage of the forts was accomplished and
the vessels were anchored, the Confederate ram Ten-
nessee was seen to be moving out from under the guns
of Fort Morgan. Captain Drayton reported this fact
to the admiral, stating that Buchanan, the Confederate
admiral, was going outside to destroy the outer fleet.
The admiral immediately said, " Then we must follow
him out ! " though he suspected that Buchanan, be-
coming desperate, had made up his mind to sink or
destroy the flagship Hartford, and do as much injury as
possible before losing his own vessel. Soon after this
remark, Farragut said, " No ! Buck's coming here. Get
under way at once ; we must be ready for him."

Of the desperate fight which now took place we may
Wrn more details at some future time. After a fierce
contest, the great ram, the pride and boast of the Con-
federate navy, and under the command of Buchanan,

FARRAGUT LASHED TO THE RIGGING

HOW FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE RIGGING 1 57

the commander of the Merrimac in the fight with the
Monitor, was forced to surrender.

The fact that the admiral was lashed in the main
rigging during the fight gave him a great reputation
throughout the country. Farragut was amused and
amazed at the notoriety of the incident. When a comic
picture of the scene, in one of the illustrated papers,
came to hand a few days after the battle, the admiral
said to Captain Drayton in conversation, " How curi-
ously some trifling incident catches the popular fancy.
My being in the main rigging was a mere incident,
owing to the fact that I was driven aloft by the smoke.
The lashing was the result of your own fears for my
safety." At the close of the war the admiral yielded
to the solicitations of a celebrated artist, to stand for
a historical portrait in the position in which he was
first lashed.

58 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXVIII

THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON
[From Warren Lee Goss's "Jed."]

The rain was pouring in torrents when, on the 23d
of May, 1864, about sundown, we arrived at Anderson
Station. We were formed in single ranks on the long
platform of the depot, and were then formally turned
over to the prison guard. We were marched east a
short distance, by a road running through a little valley,
surrounded by thick pine woods, when there loomed up
before us, in the moist atmosphere and gathering dark-
ness, a long line of palisades, the sight of which gave
me a shiver of foreboding and dread. The rainfall and
the chill of evening oppressed me with gloom.

The gates before us now swung inward, and we were
marched into the prison. Many, oh, how many ! never
passed through those gates again until they were car-
ried to the graveyard trenches beyond. Gaunt crea-
tures, with shrunken forms and blackened faces, clothed
in dirty, ragged shreds of blue, thronged round us as

THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 1 59

we entered the prison. The impress of suffering and
famine was over all. Their hollow-eyed countenances,
dishevelled hair, half-naked limbs, and grotesque habili-
ments, for a while made it impossible for us to realize
that they, like ourselves, were Union soldiers.

Exposure to rain and sun, starvation and confinement
within the deadly embrace of these prison walls had
obliterated all semblance of manhood from these
patriotic men. Some stared apathetically at us, as if
visitants from another world, in which they no longer
had a part. From their faces all hope and cheerfulness
had faded out. Others gathered around us, and in
plaintive, tremulous, but eager voices, inquired for news
of the outside world from where we came, or invited
to trade. "Where is Sherman?" "What is Grant
doing ? " " Got any hard-tack or coffee to trade for
corn bread ? " " Do you know when we are to be ex-
changed ? " are samples of the interrogations which
came from faltering lips. The last question was the
most common one. This, coming from wretched men,
hollow-eyed, famine-pinched, and with scurvied, swol-
len faces, blue and trembling with cold, dampness, and
the weakness of famine, made the questionings almost
an appeal. Though this scene brought a shiver of
creeping horror over many a man among us accustomed

l60 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

to face death in battle, yet we but feebly comprehended
its full import then.

A revolting stench filled the moist atmosphere. Our
feet mired into a wallow of filth at every step. We
constantly stumbled on squalid huts scarcely high
enough to creep under. These were made of blankets,
shirts, shreds of clothing, or were built up with mud
and roofed with brush or twigs of pine. Coming from
ordinary scenes of war, this prison, by contrast, was so
horrible as to seem to be the very jaws of death and the
gates of hell. Within its deadly maw all semblance of
humanity was crushed.

The side hill beyond, we were told, was to be our
quarters. But where? The whole hillside was so
crowded with huts and human forms lying on the
muddy ground, that at a first glance there appeared to
be no room for us. It was only by scattering in groups
of two or three at different points that we finally found
the needed space to spread our blankets.

Sadly thinking of my far-off Northern home and
friends, and of the terrible contrasts here, I fell into a
troubled sleep. The sun was shining brightly when I
was awakened by men stumbling against me. As I
arose to my feet the daylight revealed, for the first
time, the whole prison area to my sight.

THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON l6l

In form the enclosure of stockade was a parallelo-
gram, shown by after measurements to be ten hundred
and ten feet in length, and seven hundred and seventy-
nine feet wide. The sides of this parallelogram ran
north and south. It enclosed two opposite hillsides,
and the valleys and plateaus back of them. Near the
centre, running from east to west, was a brook, eight to
ten feet in width. On each side of this creek was a
swampy marsh reaching to the foot of both the north
and south hillsides.

The stockade was built of pine logs set upright in the
ground, scored slightly on the sides, so as to fit them
closely together. These were firmly held together by
means of a plank or slab, spiked on the outside and
across the face of the logs near the top. Sentry
boxes, thirty-five in number, were scaffolded outside,
close to the stockade, so that the guard could over-
look the area within.

No vegetation was in this pen. The dense growth
of pines formerly covering the ground had been cleared
away when the stockade was built.

As I went down the hill to wash myself at the brook
I saw, for the first time, a little railing three feet high,
running eighteen feet from, and parallel with, the
stockade, inside and all around it. It was made by

1 62 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

nailing a strip of board, about three inches wide, to the
top of posts set firmly in the ground.

"What is that for?" I asked an old prisoner.

" You'd better keep away from it if you don't want
to get shot," he replied. " That's the dead line. I saw
one of the guard shoot one of our old men the other
day while he was reaching over to pick up a weed which
was growing inside."

"What did he want of the weed ?" I inquired won-
deringly.

" Don't know. Guess he wanted it to eat ; good for
scurvy," was the reply.

On every side strange and terrible sights greeted me.
Men were cooking at little fires scarcely large enough
to make a blaze. Dead men, with unclosed eyes, lay in
the path by the side of the little huts. Sick men, with
scurvied, bloated limbs, were trying to eat, while their
teeth almost dropped from their jaws. Wounded men,
with festering, unhealed wounds, were lying with naked
limbs and with hair matted in the filth of their sur-
roundings.

With inarticulate, piteous whines, they looked with
their lustreless eyes or reached out their withered,
feeble hands in mute appeal for help. They were cov-
ered with vermin. God in heaven ! what horrors
greeted every step !

THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON l6^

Such was our introduction to the living death of
Andersonville, and thus it was that we settled down to
the common life of prisoners. As bitter and terrible
as was the opening scene described, it afterwards
became inexpressibly worse, month by month, during
our stay there.

164 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAA

XXIX

THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT

[From General Sheridan's "Personal Memoirs "]

Early in the fall of 1864, I felt the need of an effi-
cient body of scouts to collect information concerning
the enemy. I therefore began to organize my scouts on
a system which I hoped would give better results than
had the method hitherto pursued in the department,
which was to employ doubtful citizens and Confederate
deserters. If these should turn out untrustworthy, the
mischief they might do us gave me grave apprehensions.
I finally concluded that those of our own soldiers who
should volunteer for the delicate and hazardous duty
would be the most valuable material. These men were
disguised in Confederate uniforms whenever necessary,
were paid from the secret-service fund in proportion to
the value of the intelligence they furnished, which
often stood us in good stead in checking the forays of
Harry Gilmor, Mosby, and other irregulars.

Beneficial results came from the plan in many other

THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT 165

ways too, and particularly so when, in a few days, two
of my scouts put me in the way of getting news con
veyed from Winchester. They had learned that just
outside of my lines there was living an old colored man
who had a permit from the Confederate commander to
go into Winchester and return three times a week, for
the purpose of selling vegetables to the inhabitants.
The scouts had sounded this man, and, finding him both
loyal and shrewd, suggested that he might be made
useful to us within the enemy's lines. The proposal
struck me as feasible, provided there could be found in
Winchester some trustworthy person who would be will-
ing to co-operate and correspond with me. I asked
General Crook, who was acquainted with many of the
Union people of Winchester, if he knew of such a per-
son, and he recommended a Miss Rebecca Wright, a
young lady whom he had met there before the battle of
Kernstown, who, he said, was a member of the Society
of Friends and the teacher of a small private school.
He knew she was faithful and loyal to the government,
and thought she might be willing to render us assist-
ance ; but he could not be certain of this, for, on ac-
fcount of her well-known loyalty, she was under constant
surveillance. I hesitated at first, but, finally deciding to
try it, despatched the two scouts to the old negro's

l66 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

cabin, and they brought him to my headquarters late at
night. I was soon convinced of the negro's fidelity,
and, asking him if he was acquainted with Miss
Rebecca Wright of Winchester, he replied that he
knew her well. Thereupon, I told him what I
wished to do, and, after a little persuasion, he agreed
to carry a letter to the young lady on his next
marketing trip.

My message was prepared by writing it on tissue
paper, which was then compressed into a small pellet,
and protected by wrapping it in tinfoil so that it could
be safely carried in the man's mouth. The probability
of his being searched when he came to the Confederate
picket-line was not remote, and in such event he was to
swallow the pellet. The letter appealed to Miss Wright's
loyalty and patriotism, and requested her to furnish me
with information regarding the strength and condition
of Early's army. The night before the negro started,
one of the scouts placed the odd-looking communica-
tion in his hands, with renewed injunctions as to secrecy
and promptitude.

Early in the morning it was delivered to Miss Wright
with an intimation that a letter of importance was
enclosed in the tinfoil, the negro telling her at the same
time that she might expect him to call for a message in

THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT 167

reply before his return home. At first Miss Wright
began to open the pellet nervously, but when told to be
careful, and to preserve the foil as a wrapping for her
answer, she proceeded slowly and carefully, and when
the note appeared intact the messenger retired, remark-
ing again that in the evening he would come for an
answer.

On reading my communication Miss Wright was
much startled by the perils it involved, and hesitatingly
consulted her mother ; but her devoted loyalty soon
silenced every other consideration, and the brave girl
resolved to comply with my request, notwithstanding it
might jeopardize her life. The evening before, a con-
valescent Confederate officer had visited her mother's
house, and in conversation about the war had disclosed
the fact that Kershaw's division of infantry and a
battalion of artillery had started to rejoin General Lee.
At the time Miss Wright heard this, she attached but
little importance to it, but now she perceived the value
of the intelligence. As her first venture, she deter-
mined to send it to me at once, which she did, with a
promise that in the future she would with great pleas-
ure continue to transmit information by the negro
messenger.

Miss Wright's answer proved of more value to me

l68 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

than she anticipated, for it not only quieted the con-
flicting reports concerning Anderson's corps, but was
most important in showing positively that Kershaw had
gone. This circumstance led, three days later, to the
battle of Winchester.

THE FORTUNES OF WAR 169

XXX

THE FORTUNES OF WAR

[From the "Youth's Companion."]

The tide of war penetrated for the first time into
Kentucky in the summer of 1862. The armed neu-
trality which the State had declared as its policy, and
which it had striven to maintain, had proved a failure.
The Confederates entered the State, hoping and expect-
ing to find her ready to come at their call.

The attempt proved a failure. After many defeats,
the broken and routed army was driven back into the
valley of East Tennessee.

The silence of the forest was broken by the tramp
of thousands of feet ; the hills swarmed with the blue
and the gray. Giant trees, the growth of centuries,
were felled to make room for batteries and rifle-pits.
The scanty crops of corn and potatoes were soon ex-
hausted, and forage for man and beast became every
day more scarce.

Supplies were brought up the river on steamboats,
then transferred to wagon-trains, and, when the roads
became impassable, were carried on pack mules.

170 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

So the advancing Federal army under Burnside had
no lack. But for General Bragg's men, who were
retreating, weary, discouraged, footsore and ragged,
there was no recourse but to ravage the surrounding
country, and this they did with such effect that the
natives, who are always abjectly poor, were reduced
to extremities.

Communication with home was cut off, and mails
were irregular and infrequent. Yet it was a question
whether to be glad or to be sorry when a mail did come,
so piteous were the tales of destitution and need that it
brought.

The early twilight was settling down, a light fall of
snow had sprinkled the hills with white, the wind
whistled drearily through the pine trees. Shivering, the
men drew closer to the roaring campfire.

Suddenly one of the group started up, and, dashing a
letter he had been reading to the ground, exclaimed,
" Boys, I'm bound ter git a leave an' go home fur a
week ! "

" Git a leave in the face uv the Blue Jackets ! Why,
John Rowsey, air ye crazy ? "

"I tell yer, fellers, I'm bound ter go --my wife an'
the young uns they's starvin', ain't got nothing to eat
at all!"

THE FORTUNES OF WAR 17*

He groaned as he walked away to present his petition
to General Breckinridge, his brigade commander.

With orderlies and adjutants on guard, it is by no
means easy for a private to approach his chief, but a
motive such as impelled Rowsey would have overcome
even greater obstacles than these, and he was in a short
time standing in the general's tent.

" Beg pardon, general," said the aide, "I tried to keep
the man out, but nothing would do but he must see you
himself."

The young officers who filled the tent smiled audibly
at the appearance of the ragged, unkempt, shoeless
man who presented himself among them. But General
Breckinridge was too polite to find matter for merriment
in genuine distress, however humble. With a glance of
stern rebuke to the jesters, he turned, and, with the
same gracious, sweet courtesy that marked his manners
to every one, he said, "Well, my man, what can I do
for you ? "

"I would like a week's leave, general, if you
please."

"Why, my good fellow, don't you know that in the
face of the enemy no one can have a leave ? "

" Read that, general, if you please."

It was a torn and soiled half-sheet of coarse paper

172 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

The general took it, and these were the pencilled words
he deciphered :

Dear John, — Can't you come home and help us? We ain't
had nothm' ter eat sence day before yesterday, 'cep' some dry
crusts uv corn bread. The soldiers hev took everything. They've
kilt the cow, an' the meal's all gone ; if you can't come soon we'll
all be starved. Good-by, an' God bless you if I don't see you no
more. Mary.

No petition from high official had ever moved General
Breckinridge as did that simple little letter.

"My poor fellow," said he, laying his hand on the
soldier's shoulder, " I will indorse your petition and
send it up to headquarters. You know that when we
are so near a battle as now no one but the commanding
general can grant a leave, but you shall have it if I can
get it for you."

" God bless you, general ! " sobbed the poor fellow, as
he sank on his knees. " God bless you, and thank you
kindly."

There were few dry eyes in the tent as Breckinridge
read the letter to the officers who surrounded him, after
Rowsey had gone, and he lost no time in sending it
with his own indorsement to General Bragg.

John Rowsey slept with troubled dreams of love and
Mary, and awoke stretching out his arms and crying,
'"I'm a-coming, Mary, I'm coming!"

THE FORTUNES OF WAR 1/3

"Pore feller," said his comrades, "he's all dazed wi'
his trouble."

" Message for Private John Rowsey, Company E, — th,
K. V. M.," called out a gay-looking officer, galloping
down the line.

Flushed with hope, he came forward, received the
packet, and tore it open eagerly ; but when he saw his
wife's letter enclosed with General Breckinridge's in-
dorsement, while across the paper were written the
fatal words, " Request disallowed," he dropped heavily
to the ground. " I tell yer, boys, I must go ! " he said
an hour or two later to a group of friends.

" But yer'll be caught ! "

"Ef I am they can't do nothin' but shoot me, an' I
rather be dead than stay here. Good Lord, you dunno
what 'tis ter feel as them as yer love better'n yerself's
starvin' ter death, an' you can't do nothin' ter help
'em ! "

After that no one said anything to hinder him, but
all gave him money to help him.

" Give my respects to General Breckinridge, Jim," he
said to a comrade, as he started, "an' thank him fur
what he tried to do fur me, an' tell him I hed ter go."
Then he turned and walked quietly down the line, into
the thick woods patrolled by the boys in gray.

1/4 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Past the first and second sentry he went unchallenged,
no one taking notice of the man who walked along
coolly and seemed to be minding his business. Only
one more picket, and then — freedom and Mary, when —

"Who goes there ? " called a stentorian voice.

"A friend."

"Advance and give the countersign."

A dash through the woods was the only answer.
What odds, however, had one against half a dozen ?
The sentry's gun gave the alarm, and John Rowsey was
surrounded and lodged in the guard-house.

The tidings soon penetrated to the little group who
were so anxiously awaiting the result.

"Sarves him right," said a burly Tennessean, "fur
desartin' his country's flag."

" Shet up, Jake Larkins ! Country's well enough,
but if them what's bone o' yer bone's a-starvin' an'
a-callin' fur ye, I reckon ye wouldn't be thinking 'bout
country," said Jim, as he strode off to Breckinridge's
quarters.

" Is it any use, general, do ye think, axin' fur a pardon ?
I knows as it's a mighty bad case, but jes' ye think what
was pullin' the poor feller t'other way."

" I'll see, I'll see," said the general, with a tremble in
his voice.

THE FORTUNES OF WAR 175

" My God, I wish I had given him the leave and taken
the risk myself."

And " see " he did, for he got up a petition which was
signed by half a dozen brigade commanders ; but all to
no effect.

" Deserter John Rowsey to be shot at high noon,"
was the sentence issued.

The prisoner sat in the guard-house trying to write a
letter by a dim light. As he was writing, General
Breckenridge opened the door and came in.

" My poor fellow, I am sorry for this ! "

" I knowed you'd be, general, I knowed you'd be. I
love my country, too, but I couldn't help doin' it. I
was bound to go, you see."

" Is there anything I can do for you ? "

"If you'd find my Mary, general, an' tell her how I
tried ter come, an' give her this letter, an' if you could
help her a bit."

"I will, I will," was the answer. "I will find her
myself."

"An', general, you don't think I run away cos I was
a coward ? "

"A coward, no!" and the kindly blue eyes shone
with moisture.

"I ain't afeard ter fight, an' I ain't afeard ter

I76 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

die, but there's some things as takes the heart
outer a feller."

" I'll tell Mary that you died like a brave man,"
said the general, as he grasped the horny hand of
the soldier.

" Bless you fur that word! " cried the other, springing
up eagerly. " An' God bless you now an' alwiz, an'
keep you frum trouble like mine ! " And there the-/
stood hand in hand, the general and the gentleman, and
the uncouth mountaineer whose ideas were limited to
his native hills.

Around a large, partially cleared space, where the
stumps of the trees showed that the wilderness had but
lately given way before the advance of man, the bat-
talions were drawn up to see — what ?

One solitary man standing in the centre of the circle,
with eyes blinded, a target for the bullets of half a
dozen bright, glittering rifles fifty yards away.

" I'll not do it," said one. " I came to fight the enemy
and not to murder a defenceless man."

" Orders is orders," said another, " and he's a de-
serter."

" Deserter, indeed ! Wouldn't you have done the
same in his place ? "

" Well, I wasn't in his place, and how do I know what

THE FORTUNES OF WAR 177

I would have done if I had been ? " with which piece
of philosophy he turned away.

The signal given, a flash, a discharge, a muffled
scream, and all was over. No one noticed that one of
the shots was fired into the air.

General Breckinridge's face grew whiter and whiter
as he sat immovable on his horse at the head of his
troops and watched the preparations. And when the
faint cry was heard he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

What mattered it to the thousands in that camp, who
might themselves meet death in the next twenty-four
hours, that one soul had gone on before ?

When General Breckinridge sought out that once
happy little home on the spur of Pine Knob, he found
only an empty and deserted cabin. Whether Mary had
heard the sad tidings and gone to the settlement in the
valley away down below, or whether she had wandered
into the wilderness in pursuit of sustenance for herself
and little ones, and perished there, no one will ever
know.

I78 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXXI

BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON

[From Warren Lee Goss*s "/ed."]

The teams with rations usually came in at the north
gate. These rations consisted of Indian meal, and
sometimes of bacon. As a whole there was a large
quantity, but when subdivided among twenty or thirty
thousand men it gave to each one but a small quantity.
A street or path, to which was given the name of Broad-
way, led from the gate through the stockade from east
to west. Here, at ration time, was gathered a motley
crowd. With eager, hungry eyes, they watched each
division of the food, the sight of which seemed to have
a strange fascination for the hungry wretches, long
unused to full stomachs. They crowded to the wagons
to get a sight of each bag of meal or piece of meat.
The attempt to grasp a morsel which sometimes fell
from the wagon, the piteous expression of disappoint-
ment on their pinched and unwashed faces if they
failed, the involuntary exclamations, and the wistful,
hungry look, had in them a pathos not easily described

BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 1 79

After the drawing of rations, a dense throng of pris-
oners always gathered near the north gate to trade.
One with tobacco cut in pieces not larger than dice
might be seen trying to trade it for rations. Another
could be heard crying out, " Who will trade a soup-bone
for Indian meal?" "Who'll trade cooked rations for
raw ? " " Who'll trade beans for wood ? " While others
with small pieces of dirty bacon an inch or two in size,
held on a sharpened stick, would drive a sharp trade
with some one whose mouth was watering for its pos-
session. But for its misery, the scene would often have
been intensely comical.

The dirty faces, anxious looks, and grotesque gar-
ments, and the loud cries, so much in contrast with the
usual value of the articles offered, had a humorous side
not hard to appreciate even by men as miserable as
themselves. The struggle of these thousands, all
striving to better their condition by barter and trade,
was pathetic. How each bettered his condition by the
process of trade, I could never learn.

We had not long been prisoners before we discovered
that men here, as in other conditions of life, in order to
"get on" and preserve life, must adopt some trade or
business. This necessity made men ingenious. Some
set up as bakers, and bought flour, and baked biscuits

l80 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

which they sold to such as had money to buy. The
ovens which were built showed such ingenuity as to
extort expressions of surprise from the Confederates
who occasionally visited us. The soil contained a red
precipitate of iron, which was very adhesive. This was
made into rude bricks by mixing the earth with water,
and the oven was built of these over a mould of sand.
After being left to harden in the sun for a few days, the
sand was removed, a fire was kindled, and the oven was
ready for use.

Others made wooden buckets to hold water, whittling
out the staves and making the hoops with a jack-knife.
Others purchased (of outside parties) sheet tin, gener-
ally taken from the roofs of railway cars, and, with a
railway spike and a stone for tools, made small camp
kettles, without solder, by bending the pieces ingen-
iously together. These were eagerly purchased by those
who had money. As no cooking utensils were pos-
sessed by the prisoners, except such as they brought
into prison with them, these tinmen were benefactors.

Others tinkered broken-down watches, the object of
their owners being simply to make them " go " long
enough to effect a trade. The purchaser was usually a
Confederate, who found these watch-owners easier to
interview before the trade than afterwards, when he

BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON l8l

desired to bring them to account for selling watches
that refused to go unless carried by the purchaser.
Others fried flapjacks of Indian meal, and sold them
hot from the griddle for ten cents each. Among the
professional men were brewers, who vended around the
camp beer made of Indian meal soured in water. This
was sold for vinegar, and proclaimed by the venders to
be a cure for scurvy, but was principally used as a re-
freshing drink. A certain enterprising prisoner added
ginger and molasses to the compound, and made, as he
termed his success, a " boom " by selling it. He became
so rich as to buy food, and so regained his health and
strength.

1 82 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXXII
BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS

The promise is that bread cast upon the waters shall
be found after many days. The fulfilment of this
promise in its fullest measure was never better exem-
plified than in the personal history of those who took
an active part in the late war. Here are two incidents
which show us that the Christian spirit may always be
exercised in the midst of commonplace and every-day
surroundings.

In 1864, some wounded soldiers lay in a farmhouse

in the Shenandoah Valley. Mrs. B , the mother of

one of them, the wife of a neighboring planter, rode
ten miles every day to see her boy, bringing with her
such little comforts as she could obtain. Her house
was burned, and the plantation was in ruins, trampled
down by the army. One day she carried to him a pail
of beef-tea. Every drop was precious, for it was with
great difficulty, and at a high price, that she had ob-
tained the beef from which it was made.

As she sat watching her boy sip the steaming, savory

BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS 1 83

broth, her eye caught the eager, hungry eye of a man
on the next cot.

She turned away with a quick, savage pleasure in his
want. He was a Yankee soldier, perhaps one of the
very band who had burned her home.

She was a bitter Southerner. But she was also a
noble-hearted woman, and a servant of Christ. Her
eye stole back to the pale, sunken face, and she remem-
bered the words of her Master, " If thine enemy thirst,
give him drink."

After a moment's pause, and with pressed lips, for it
required all the moral force she could command for her
to do it, she filled a bowl with the broth and put it to
his lips, repeating to herself the words, " For His sake ;
for His sake ; for His sake I do it."

Then she brought fresh water and bathed the soldier's
face and hands as gently as if he too had been her son.
The next day when she returned he was gone, having
been exchanged to the North.

Last winter, the son of a senator from one of the
Northern States brought home, during the Christmas
vacation, as his chum, a young engineer from Virginia.

He was the only living son of Mrs. B , the boy

whom she had nursed having been killed during the
later years of the war.

I84 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

She had struggled for years to educate this boy as a
civil engineer, and had done it. But without influence
he could not obtain a position, and was now supporting
himself by copying.

Senator Blank became much interested in the young
Virginian, inquired into his qualifications, and after he
had returned home used his influence to procure an
appointment for him as chief of the staff of engineers
employed to construct an important railway. It would
yield him a good income for many years.

Senator Blank enclosed the appointment in a letter

to Mrs. B , reminding her of the farmhouse on the

Shenandoah, adding, "The wounded man with whom
you shared that bowl of broth has long wished to thank
you for it. Now he has done it."

A story is also told of two young men, who, shortly
before the war broke out, were fellow-students and room-
mates at a Pennsylvania college, one a Southerner.

Both were hard students, and aspired to be leaders of
their class ; and in time the sharp rivalry between them
changed their friendship to bitter enmity. Mutual
charges were made, and the hostile feeling finally culmi-
nated in a challenge from the Southerner, which the
other treated with contempt.

BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS 1 85

After graduation the young duellist went home, and
in the cares and excitements of the following years his
college quarrel was forgotten. The memory of it sud-
denly came back to him one day, after he had become a
Christian, and shocked him with the discovery of a sur-
viving hatred.

It was at the battle of Stone River. Our student, now
a Confederate officer, was riding across the battle-field,
when his horse nearly trod upon a wounded Union soldier.
He dismounted, with the humane intention of giving
some assistance, but when he looked the soldier in the
face, he recognized his old college enemy. He turned
quickly to remount his horse, but better thoughts and
feelings checked his first cruel impulse, and "in Christ's
name " he caused the soldier to be removed to a place
of refuge, and procured for him the services of a sur-
geon and a chaplain.

The wounded man knew his deliverer, but was too
weak to utter inquiries or thanks. Informed that his
wound was fatal, he could only request that his mother
be written to, and assured that he " died like a true
soldier ; " and this kind service also the Southern
officer faithfully performed as soon as the battle was
over.

He had no suspicion that the care he had secured for

1 86 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

the sufferer would prove the means of saving his former
enemy's life.

After the war, the Northern man wrote to thank his
forgiving enemy ; but no answer was received, and fur-
ther inquiry brought the information that he had been
killed.

Twenty-one years passed ; the Northerner was a phy-
sician in prosperous practice, when business called him
to Charleston, S. C. In a street of that city, then
partly in ruins, the two men who had twice been dead
to each other met again.

The startled doctor saw the classmate who had once
been willing to take his life, and once had saved it.
The man had lost his all in the great earthquake ; and
his old enemy and grateful friend took him and his
needy family back with him to his own city, and estab-
lished him in a good situation.

THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE

»87

XXXIII

THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE

[From General Grant's "Personal Memoirs"]

Before stating what took place between General
Lee and myself, I will give all there is of the story of
the famous apple-tree.
Wars produce many
stories of fiction, some
of which are told until
they are believed to be
true. The war of the
rebellion was no excep-
tion to this rule ; and
the story of the apple-
tree is one of those fic-
tions based on a slight
foundation of fact.
There was an apple

orchard on the side of the hill occupied by the
Confederate forces. Running diagonally up the hill
was a wagon road, which, at one point, ran very

ULYSSES S. GRANT.

7 88 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

near one of the trees, so that the wheels of vehi-
cles had, on that side, cut off the roots of this tree,
leaving a little embankment. General Babcock, of my
staff, reported to me that when he first met General
Lee he was sitting upon this embankment, with his feet
in the road below and his back resting against the tree.
The story has no other foundation than that. Like
many other stories, it would be very good if it was only
true.

I had known General Lee in the old army, and had
served with him in the Mexican War, but did not sup-
pose, owing to the difference in our age and rank, that
he would remember me ; while I would more naturally
remember him distinctly, because he was the chief of
staff of General Scott in the Mexican War.

When I had left camp that morning I had not ex-
pected so soon the result that was then taking place,
and consequently was in rough garb. I was without a
sword, as I usually was when on horseback on the field,
and wore a soldier's blouse for a coat, with the shoulder-
straps of my rank to indicate to the army who I was.
When I went into the house I found General Lee. We
greeted each other, and after shaking hands took our
seats. I had my staff with me, a good portion of whom
were in the room during the whole of the interview.

THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE

89

What General Lee's feelings were I do not know.
As he was a man of much dignity, with an impassible
face, it was impossible to say whether he felt inwardly
glad that the end had finally come, or felt sad over the
result, and was too
manly to show it.
Whatever his feel-
ings, they were en-
tirely concealed from
my observation ; but
my own feelings,
which had been quite
jubilant on the re-
ceipt of his letter,
were sad and de-
pressed. I felt like
anything than rejoic-
ing at the downfall
of a foe who had
fought so long and valiantly, and had suffered so
much for a cause, though that was, I believe, one
of the worst for which a people ever fought, and
one for which there was the least excuse. I do not
question, however, the sincerity of the great mass of
those who were opposed to us. General Lee was

ROBERT E. LEE.

190 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

dressed in a full uniform which was entirely new, and
was wearing a sword of considerable value, very likely
the sword which had been presented by the State of
Virginia; at all events, it was an entirely different
sword from the one that would ordinarily be worn in
the field. In my rough travelling suit, the uniform of
a private, with the straps of a lieutenant-general, I must
have contrasted very strongly with a man so handsomely
dressed, six feet high, and of a faultless form. But
this was not a matter that I thought of until afterwards.
We soon fell into a conversation about old army
times. He remarked that he remembered me very well
in the old army ; and I told him that as a matter of
course I remembered him perfectly. Our conversation
grew so pleasant that I almost forgot the object of our
meeting. General Lee called my attention to the
object of our meeting, and said that he had asked for
this interview for the purpose of getting from me the
terms I proposed to give his army. I said that I meant
merely that his army should lay down their arms, not
to take them up again during the war unless duly and
properly exchanged. He said that he had so under-
stood my letter, and that the terms I proposed to give
his army ought to be written out. I then began writing
out the terms. When I put my pen to paper I did

THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE I9I

not know the first word that I should make use of, I
only knew what was in my mind, and that I wished to
express it clearly so that there could be no mistaking it.
As I wrote on, the thought occurred to me that the
officers had their own private horses and effects, which
were important to them, but of no value to us : also
that it would be unnecessary humiliation to call upon
them to deliver their side-arms.

No conversation, not one word, passed between Gen-
eral Lee and myself, either about private property, side-
arms, or kindred subjects. When he read over that part
of the terms about side-arms, horses, and private prop-
erty of the officers, he remarked — with some feeling, I
thought — that this would have a happy effect upon the
army. I then said to him that I thought this would be
about the last battle of the war — I sincerely hoped so;
and I said further, I took it that most of the men in the
ranks were small farmers. The whole country had been
so raided by the two armies that it was doubtful
whether they would be able to put in a crop to carry
themselves and their families through the next winter
without the aid of the horses they were then riding.
The United States did not want them, and I would
therefore instruct the officers I left behind to receive
the paroles of his troops to let every man who claimed

192 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

to own a horse or mule take the animal to his home.
Lee remarked again that this would have a happy effect.

The much-talked-of surrendering of Lee's sword and
my handing it back, this and much more that has been
said about it is the purest romance. The word sword
or side-arms was not mentioned by either of us until I
wrote it in the terms. General Lee, after all was com-
pleted and before taking his leave, remarked that his
army was in a very bad condition for want of food, and
that they were without forage ; and that his men had
been living for some days on parched corn exclusively,
and that he would have to ask me for rations and forage.
I told him "certainly," and asked for how many men he
wanted rations. His answer was, "About twenty-five
thousand." I authorized him to send his own commis-
sary and quartermaster to Appomattox Station, where
he could have all the provisions wanted. Lee and I
then separated as cordially as we had met; he returning
to his own men, and all went into bivouac for the night
at Appomattox.

When the news of the surrender first reached our lines,
our men commenced firing a salute of a hundred guns,
in honor of the victory. I at once sent word, however,
to have it stopped ; the Confederates were now our pris-
oners, and we did not want to exult over their downfall.

GRAND REVIEW AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR 1 93

XXXIV

THE GRAND REVIEW IN WASHINGTON AT THE
CLOSE OF THE WAR

[From General Sherman's "Personal Memoirs."'}

By invitation I was on the review stand and wit-
nessed the review of the Army of the Potomac, com-
manded by General Meade in person. The day was
beautiful, and the pageant was superb. Washington
was full of strangers, who filled the streets, in holiday
dress, and every house was decorated with flags. The
army marched by divisions in close column around the
Capitol, down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the President
and Cabinet, who occupied a large stand prepared for
the occasion directly in front of the White House.

During the afternoon and night of May 23, 1865, the
Fifteenth, the Seventeenth, and Twentieth Corps
crossed Long Bridge, bivouacked in the streets about
the Capitol, and the Fourteenth Corps closed up to the
bridge. The morning of the 24th was extremely beau-
tiful, and the ground was in splendid order for our re-
view. The streets were filled with people to see the

194 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

pageant, armed with bouquets of flowers for their
favorite regiment or heroes, and everything was propi-
tious. Punctually at 9 a.m., the signal gun was fired,
when in person, attended by General Howard and all
my staff, I rode slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue, the
crowds of men, women, and children densely lining the
sidewalks and almost obstructing the way. We were
followed close by General Logan at the head of the Fif-
teenth Corps. When I reached the Treasury Building
and looked back, the sight was simply magnificent.
The column was compact, and the glittering muskets
looked like a solid mass of steel, moving with the regu-
larity of a pendulum. We passed the Treasury Build-
ing, in front of which and of the White House was an
immense throng of people, for whom extensive stands
had been prepared on both sides of the avenue. As I
neared the brick house opposite the lower corner of
Lafayette Square, some one asked me to notice Mr.
Seward, who, still feeble and bandaged for his wounds,
had been removed there that he might behold the troops.
I moved in that direction, and took off my hat to Mr.
Seward, who sat at an upper window. He recognized
the salute, returned it, and then we rode on steadily
past the President, saluting with our swords. All on
his stand arose and acknowledged the salute. Then,

GRAND REVIEW AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR 195

turning into the gate of the Presidential grounds, we
left our horses with orderlies and went upon the stand,
where I found Mrs. Sherman, with her father and son.
Passing them, I shook hands with the President, Gen-
eral Grant, and each member of the Cabinet. I then
took my post on the left of the President, and for six
hours and a half stood while the army passed in the
order of the Fifteenth, Seventeenth, Twentieth, and
Fourteenth Corps. It was, in my judgment, the most
magnificent army in existence — sixty-five thousand men
— in splendid physique, who had just completed a
march of nearly two thousand miles in a hostile coun-
try, in good drill, and who realized that they were being
closely scrutinized by thousands of their fellow-country-
men and by foreigners. Division after division passed,
each commander of an army corps or division coming
on the stand during the passage of his command, to be
presented to the President, his Cabinet, and spectators.
The steadiness and firmness of the tread, the careful
dress of the guides, the uniform intervals between the
companies, all eyes directly to the front, and the tat-
tered and bullet-riven flags festooned with flowers, all
attracted universal notice. Many good people up to
that time had looked upon our Western army as a sort
of mob ; but the world then saw and recognized the

196 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

fact that it was an army in the proper sense, well organ-
ized, well commanded and disciplined ; and there was
no wonder that it had swept through the South like a
tornado. For six hours and a half that strong tread of
the Army of the West resounded along Pennsylvania
Avenue ; not a soul of that vast crowd of spectators
left his place, and when the rear of the column had
passed by, thousands of the spectators still lingered to
express their sense of confidence in the strength of a
government which could claim such an army.

Some little scenes enlivened the day, and called for
the laughter and cheers of the crowd. Each division
was followed by six ambulances, as a representative of
its baggage train. Some of the division commanders
had added, by way of variety, goats, milch-cows, pack-
mules, whose loads consisted of game-cocks, poultry,
hams, etc., and some of them had the families of freed
slaves along, with the women leading their children.
Each division was preceded by its corps of black pio-
neers, armed with picks and spades. These marched
abreast in double ranks, keeping perfect dress and step,
and added much to the interest of the occasion. On
the whole, the grand review was a splendid success, and
was a fitting conclusion to the campaign and the war.

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE I97

XXXV

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE
[From "Debenham's Vow,'" by Amelia B. Edwards.]

And now the rapid dusk comes on. The men are at
their posts ; the captain gives the word ; and the
Stormy Petrel, which has been busily getting up her
steam for the last hour or more, swings slowly round,
and works out of the port (Nassau) as composedly and
unobtrusively as she had worked in. The chain of
lamps along the quays, the scattered lights sparkling
along the shores of the bay, the steady fire of the
beacon at the mouth of the harbor, fade and diminish
and are lost one by one in the distance. For a long
time the Stormy Petrel skirts the coast line, keeping in
with the Bahamas, and pursuing her way through Brit-
ish waters, but a little after midnight she stands out to
sea.

A lovely night, the horizon somewhat hazy after the
heat of the day, but the sea breaking all over into
phosphorescent smiles and dimples, and the heavens
one glowing vault of stars. The Stormy Petrel, her

I98 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

steam being now well up, rushes on with a foam of fire
at her bows and a train of molten diamonds in her
wake. Thus the night wears, and at gray dawn the boy
in the crow's-nest reports a steamer on the starboard
quarter.

Scarcely has this danger been seen and avoided than
another and another is sighted at some points or other
of the horizon. And now swift orders, prompt obedi-
ence, eager scrutiny, are the rule of the day, for the
vessel is in perilous waters, and her only chance of
safety lies in the sharpness of her lookout, and the
speed with which she changes her course when any
possible enemy appears in sight. All day long, there-
fore, she keeps doubling like a hare, sometimes stop-
ping altogether, to let some dangerous-looking stranger
pass on ahead ; sometimes turning back upon her
course, but, thanks to her general invisibility and the
vigilance of her pilot, escaping unseen, and even mak-
ing fair progress in the teeth of every difficulty.

And now the sun goes down, half gold, half crimson,
settling into a rim of fog bank on the western horizon.
Lower it sinks, and lower, the gold diminishing, the
crimson gaining. Now, for a moment, it hangs upon
the verge of the waters, and the sky is flushed to the
zenith, and every ripple crested with living fire. And

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 199

now, suddenly it is gone, and before the glow has yet
had time to fade, the southern night rushes in.

An hour or so later the wind drops, and the Stormy
Petrel steams straight into a light fog which lies across
her path like a soft, fleecy, upright wall of cloud.

"This fog is in our favor, Mr. Polter" (the pilot),
says Debenham (the supercargo), pacing the deck with
rapid steps ; for the night has now turned somewhat
chill and raw.

"Wa'al, sir, that's as it may be," replies the pilot,
cautiously. " The fog helps to hide us ; but then, yew
see, it likewise helps to run us into danger."

At a little after midnight, when all seems to be soli-
tude and security, and no breath is stirring, and no
sound is heard save the rushing of the Stormy Petrel
through the placid waters, there suddenly rises up
before the eyes of all on board a great, ghostly, shad-
owy something — a phantom ship, vague, mountainous,
terrific, from the midst of which there issues a trumpet-
tongued voice, saying, —

u Steamer ahoy ! Heave to, or I'll sink you ! "

" Guess it's the Roanoke," observed the pilot calmly.

Even as he said the words, the man-of-war loomed
out distincter, closer, within pistol shot from deck to
deck.

200 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

The captain of the Stormy Petrel answered the hos-
tile summons.

" Ay, ay, sir," he shouted through his speaking-
trumpet. " We are hove to."

And then he called down the tube to those in the
engine-room, " Ease her."

"You won't stop the vessel, Captain Hay?" ex-
claimed Debenham, breathlessly.

" I have stopped her, sir," snarled the captain.

Then thundered a second mandate from the threaten-
ing phantom alongside :

"Lay to for boats."

To which the captain again responded, " Ay, ay, sir ! ,r

Debenham ground his teeth. " But, God of heaven !
man," he said, scarcely conscious of his own vehe
mence, "do you give in thus — without an effort?"

The captain turned upon him with an oath.

" Who says I'm going to give in ? " he answered sav-
agely. " Wait till you see me do it, sir ! "

And now the Stormy Petrel, her steam being sud-
denly turned off, had ceased to move. All on the deck
stood silent, motionless, waiting with suspended breath.
They could hear the captain of the cruiser issuing
his rapid orders, trace through the fog the outline of
the quarter boats as they were lowered into the water.

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 201

hear the splash of the oars, the boisterous gayety of
the men. . . .

Debenham uttered a suppressed groan, and the per-
spiration stood in great beads upon his forehead.

"Will you let them board us?" he said hoarsely,
pointing to the boats, now half-way between the two
vessels.

The captain grinned, put his lips again to the tube,
shouted down to the engineer, " Full speed ahead ! "
and, with one quivering leap, the Stormy Petrel shot out
again upon her course, like a greyhound let loose.

"There, Mr. Supercargo," said the captain grimly,
" that is my way of giving in. Our friend will hardly
desert his boats upon the open sea in such a night as
this, even for the fun of capturing a blockade runner."

At this moment, a red flash and a tremendous report
declared the prompt resentment of the Federal com-
mander. But almost before those rolling echoes had
died away, the Stormy Petrel was half a mile ahead,
and not an outline of the cruiser was visible through
the fog.

The night passed over without further incident, and
by five o'clock next morning the blockade-runner was
within eight hours of her destination. Both captain
mnd pilot had calculated on making considerably less

202 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

way in the time, and had allowed a much wider margin
for detours and delays, so that now they were not a
little perplexed at finding themselves so near the end of
their journey. To go on was impossible, for they could
only hope to slip through the cordon under cover of the
night. And yet to remain where they were was almost
as bad. However, they had no alternative, so, after
some little consultation, they agreed to lie to for the
present, keeping up their steam meanwhile, and holding
themselves in readiness to repeat the manoeuvres of
yesterday whenever any vessel hove in sight.

The fog had now cleared off. The day was brilliant,
the sky one speckless dome of intensest blue. The
blockade-runners would have given much for dark
and cloudy weather. Presently a long black trail of
smoke on the horizon warned them of a steamer in the
offing, whereupon they edged away in the opposite direc-
tion as quickly as possible.

Towards sunset the pilot began to look grave.
" Guess we sha'n't know whar we air if this game goes
on much longer," said he. " It aren't in natur not to
get out of one's reck'ning arter dodgin and de-vi-atin'
all day long in this style."

Still there was no help for it. Dodge and deviate the
Stormy Petrel must, if she was to be kept out of harm's

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 203

way ; and even so, with all her dodging and deviating,
it seemed well-nigh miraculous that she should escape
observation.

At length, as evening drew on and the sun neared the
horizon, preparations were made for the final run. Both
captain and pilot, by help of charts, soundings, and so
forth, had pretty well satisfied themselves as to their
position ; and the pilot, knowing at what hour it would
be high tide on the bar, had calculated the exact time
for going into the harbor.

"'Twouldn't be amiss, cap'n," said this latter, "if you
was to change that white weskit for suthin dark ; nor if
you, sir," turning to Debenham, " was to git quito' that
light suit altogether for the next few hours."

The captain muttered something about " infernal non-
sense," but went to his cabin all the same to change the
obnoxious garment. Whereupon Mr. Polter gave it as
his opinion that if the captain and all on board were to
black the whites of their eyes and put their teeth in
mourning, it would not be more than the occasion war-
ranted.

The brief twilight being already past, the engineers
piled on the coal, the captain gave the word, and the
blockade-runner steered straight for Charleston.

And now it is night ; clear, but not over-clear,

2U4 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

although the stars are shining. Objects, however, are
discernible at some distance, and ships are sighted con-
tinually. But as none of these lie directly in his path,
and as he knows his own boat to be invisible by night
beyond a certain radius, the captain holds on his course
unhesitatingly. In the mean while, the hours seem to
fly. The Stormy Petrel, now clearing the waters at full
speed, stretches herself like a racer to her work, fling-
ing the spray over her sharp bows and speeding onward
gallantly. About midnight the stars begin to cloud
over and the night thickens ; but there is still no mist
upon the sea. Towards two in the morning the lead
tells that they are nearing shore. Then the pilot gives
orders to " slow down the engines," a breathless silence
prevails, every eye is on the watch, every ear on the
alert, and, momentarily expecting to catch their first
glimpse of the blockading squadron, they steal slowly
and cautiously on their way.

And now the sense of time becomes suddenly re-
versed. Up to this point the hours have gone by like
minutes ; but now the minutes go by like hours.
Beacons there are none to guide them, for the harbor
lights have all been abolished since the arrival of the
Federal ships outside the bar ; but those on board begin
to ask themselves whether some outline of the coast
ought not, ere this, to be visible.

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 205

Still the Stormy Petrel creeps on, still each fresh
sounding brings her into shallower water, still those
eager watchers stare into the darkness, knowing that
the tide will turn and the dawn be drawing on ere long,
and that after sunrise neither speed nor skill can save
them.

At length, when suspense is sharpened almost to pain
there comes into sight a faint, indefinite something
which presently resolves itself into the outline of a
large vessel lying at anchor with her head to the wind
and a faint spark of light at her prow.

The pilot slaps his thigh triumphantly.

"That ar's the senior officer's ship," he whispers.
" She lies just tew miles off the mouth o' Charleston
bar, an' she's bound, yer see, to show a light to her own
cruisers. Zounds, now if we ain't fixed it uncommon
tidy this time ! "

And now, not one by one, but, as it were, simultane-
ously, the whole line of blockaders comes into sight,
some to the right, some to the left of that which shows
the light. Of these they count six besides the flagship,
all under way and gliding slowly, almost imperceptibly,
to and fro in the darkness.

Between some two of these the blockade-runner must
make her final run.

206 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Steam is again got up to the highest pressure, and
the Stormy Petrel rushes on at full speed. Then the
two ships between which lies her perilous path grow
momentarily clearer and nearer, and a dark ridge of
coast becomes dimly visible beyond them.

And now the supreme moment is at hand. Straight
and fast the vessel flies, her propellers throbbing furi-
ously, like a pulse at high fever, and the water hissing
past her bows. Now every man on board holds his
breath. Now flagship and cruiser (the one about half a
mile to the right, the other about half a mile to the
left) lie out a few hundred yards ahead ; now, for the
briefest second, the Stormy Petrel is in a line with both ;
now, all at once she is in the midst of a current and
rushing straight at that long white ridge of boiling surf
which marks the position of the bar !

" By Jove ! " says the captain, drawing a long breath,
" we've done it."

" Don't yer make tew sartin, cap'n, till we're over the
bar," replies the pilot. "We ain't out o' gunshot range
yet awhile."

Over the bar they are, however, ere long, safe and
successful.

And now the steam whistle is blown twice, shrill and
fearlessly, and two white lights are hung out over the

RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 207

bows of the vessel, for their pilot has been in before,
and knows the signals necessary to be observed inside
the cordon. Were these signals neglected, they would
be fired upon by the Confederate forts.

And now, too, lights are lit, and tongues are loosened,
and even the captain unbends for once, promising the
men a double allowance of grog. A long irregular line
of coast has meanwhile emerged into the gray of dawn ;
and just as the first flush of crimson streams up the
eastern sky, the Stormy Petrel casts anchor under the
sand-bag batteries of Morris Island.

208 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXXVI

BOYS IN THE LATE WAR

[Gen. Horace Porter in the " Youth's Companion?*]

When a call for troops was made at the outbreak of
the war, Young America exhibited himself in his most
combative form. Youngsters were the first to enlist,
they poured in upon the recruiting officers in swarms
like bees ; when too short they strained and stretched
to reach the standard of height, and often added a few
imaginary years to their lives so as not to be rejected
on account of age.

They were afterwards as eager to get at the enemy
as they had been to reach the recruiting sergeant, and
many a mere lad was much more conspicuous for his
bravery than were his elders.

During one of the battles in front of Petersburg, an
mfantry regiment on a part of the line which had been
hard pressed for hours by the enemy began to fall back.
The men were becoming more and more demoralized,
the color sergeant, who carries the flag in battle, had
been killed, the flag had fallen to the ground, and there
was serious danger of matters running into a panic.

BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 209

At this moment, a smooth-faced lad, a mere boy in
appearance, snatched up the flag, waved it over his
head, cried out to his comrades not to desert their
colors, and then with a firm and cheery voice started up
the song, " Rally round the flag, boys ! "

As his clear, ringing tones rose above the din of bat-
tle, his comrades faced about one after another, caught
up the strains of the soldiers' song, and soon the whole
line was charging into the enemy with such effect that
it swept everything before it, and victory was snatched
from defeat.

It seemed the work of inspiration, and the oldest
heads in the regiment might have been proud to do the
work of the boy who that day had made himself their
leader. He was made a sergeant at once for his gal-
lantry.

In an assault on the works which had been con-
structed around Vicksburg for its defence, a young man
belonging to a Western regiment, who seemed to be
one of the youngest soldiers in the ranks, pushed ahead
with great dash, until he got some distance in advance
of the others.

The assault was unsuccessful, and the troops were
compelled to fall back. The young man soon found
himself left in a Confederate outwork, with about half

2IO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

a dozen of the enemy. Before they could make an
effort to take him prisoner he aimed his musket at them
and ordered them to file off in the direction of the
Union lines.

They were so completely taken aback by the bold-
ness and suddenness of the act, that they offered no
effectual resistance, and he triumphantly marched them
into camp as prisoners.

The circumstance was reported to the commanding
general, and the affair was soon the talk of the camps.

General Grant thought this was the kind of material
that should have a permanent place in the army, and he
was successful in getting the young man a cadetship at
West Point.

His mental capacity seemed to be equal to his cour-
age, and he was graduated from that institution with
distinguished honors and given a commission in the
Engineer Corps of the army.

Young men have much more to contend against
physically in war than their elders. The constitution is
not matured, the system is much more susceptible to
malarial influences, and they are apt to " break down "
sooner under loss of sleep, over-fatigue, inferior food,
and the general hardships to which troops must always
expect to be subjected during an active campaign.

BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 211

In the Army of the Cumberland, a little pale-faced
fellow had joined the cavalry, and it is pretty certain
that the recruiting officer who enlisted him had to give
him the benefit of a doubt both as to age and height, in
order that he might come up to the requirements of the
regulations.

He was hardly equal to the work of serving with his
regiment, and was detailed as an " orderly" at head-
quarters to carry messages or to hold the horses of the
staff officers.

At the battle of Chickamauga, while he was behav-
ing with great coolness, he was struck by a bullet in the
side of the neck. He fell from his horse and was left
on the field for dead.

Twenty years afterwards a gentlemanly-looking man
stepped up to me in a hotel where I was staying, and
asked me if I remembered the little orderly who was
shot at Chickamauga. I said yes, that I recollected the
circumstances of his death very well.

He then turned his head to one side, showed me a
deep groove in his neck, and went on to tell me that he
was the person, that a surgeon had come across him on
the field, had stopped the bleeding, and succeeded in
having him carried to a hospital, that his memory had
left him for two years so that he could scarcely recall

212 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

his own name, but he then recovered all his mental powers
and became perfectly well.

I found he was a very successful business man, and
amongst other enterprises was conducting a large cattle
interest in the West. His suddenly turning up in the
corridors of a hotel, so many years after his supposed
death, seemed like the entrance of an apparition.

The youngest class of enlisted persons in the army
were drummer boys. These little fellows suffered a
great deal from wounds and still more from disease.
The hospitals always contained a large percentage of
them, but they were generally cheerful and plucky, and
after all showed more endurance than most people
would imagine.

They always kept up with the men on the march,
though they had to take a good many more steps, and
the drum they carried was no small incumbrance in get-
ting over fences and working their way through the
tangled undergrowth of forests.

During the battle of the Wilderness, one of these
little fellows was seen coming out of the woods with an
ugly wound in his arm, and carrying a musket he had
evidently secured for the occasion, for drummers do not
carry guns.

Going up to a staff officer who was riding to the front,

BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 213

the boy cried out to him, " I say, colonel, can you tell
me where there's a field hospital ? "

" Right down the road, half a mile in rear," replied
the officer. " You seem to be badly hurt."

" Oh, this ain't nothing ! " said the boy, with the cool-
ness of a veteran. " If I can strike a hospital I'll soon
get this arm fixed up, and come back and have another
crack at the 'Johnnies.' I've been fightin' them now
nigh two years, and I'll just bet you that in that time
I've killed more of 'em than they ever have of me."

Drummers were always handy little fellows on the field.
When they were not required to play with the bands
or beat the " calls," they would help to attend to the
wounded, and carry messages when the men could not
be spared from the ranks for these duties.

While they played a good many pranks, got into no
end of scrapes, and often made life miserable for the
drum-majors whose duty it was to discipline them, they
did many an act that commanded the highest admira-
tion of their officers.

When General Sherman's corps was advancing upon
Jackson, Miss., in the campaign in the rear of Vicks-
burg, and his troops were engaged in a sharp fight with
the enemy, the general heard a shrill voice calling out to
him that one of the regiments was out of ammunition,

214 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

and the men could not hold their position unless a sup-
ply of cartridges was sent to them at once.

He looked around and saw that the messenger was a
little drummer boy who was limping along the road
with the blood running from a wound in his leg.

"All right," said the general, "Til send the ammuni-
tion ; but you seem to be badly hurt, and you must go
and find a surgeon and get your wound attended to."

The boy started for the rear, and the general was
about giving the order for the ammunition, when he
heard the same piping voice crying to him, " General,
calibre fifty-eight ! calibre fifty-eight ! Be sure and
send them calibre fifty-eight ! "

Looking round he saw that the little fellow had turned
back and was running after him as fast as the wound in
his leg would let him, to describe the kind of ammuni-
tion required, which he had forgotten to mention before.

The various regiments were armed with several dif-
ferent sizes of guns. In this one the diameter of the
gun barrels was fifty-eight hundredths of an inch, and
the ammunition required to fit them was known as
calibre fifty-eight.

The general found the boy was more thoughtful than
himself, for he had not stopped to inquire of the lad
the kind of ammunition needed. He asked the boy his

BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 215

name, complimented him on his coolness and pluck, and
promised to remember his services.

The ammunition reached the men, the boy's wound
soon healed up, and after the war the general, who has
never forgotten the incident, interested himself in the
lad's behalf, and procured for him an appointment to the
Naval Academy at Annapolis.

Not long ago General Sherman was repeating the
story, and the circumstances seemed to be as fresh in
his memory as on the day on which the service was
performed.

2l6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXXVII

HOW THEY LIVED /N THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR

Before the war, the Southern people were engaged
almost exclusively in producing cotton, sugar, molasses,
and a few other staple articles, and depended on Europe
and the Northern States for manufactured goods.
Hence, during the war they felt greatly the need of
such articles as cloth, paper, leather, and household
utensils. All sorts of ways were devised to supply
these.

The wife of a Southern general wrote lately an amus-
ing account of the devices of the Virginian ladies to
clothe themselves. Homespun flannel was dyed gray
with ivy, purple with maple bark, and green with peach
bark. Ball dresses were made of mosquito netting and
brocade curtains.

At a time when a pair of boots cost four hundred dol-
lars and a lawn dress two hundred dollars, they grew
skilful in making neat gaiters out of bits of cloth and
canvas, and in weaving picturesque hats for themselves,

IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 2\J

their husbands, and brothers, out of corn shucks.
Chicken and geese feathers were made, too, into deli-
cate artificial flowers.

Old-fashioned looms were set up, and ladies wove
homespun cloth in their homes. Cotton cloths were
easily made, but wool was scarce, and the fur of rabbits
and other animals was often used instead of it. A lady
in South Carolina made very handsome cloths with a
warp of cotton and a filling of coon's fur. Leather was
difficult to make, so many substitutes for it were de-
vised. It is said that very good shoes were made out
of old wool hats, and soft shoes for ladies from squirrel-
skins. Wooden shoes were made sometimes, the soles
being made of gum wood and the uppers of leather.
Soles for boots were made out of saddle-skirts, leather
machine-belts, and double thicknesses of heavy cloth
with thin pieces of white oak, hickory, or birch bark
between them.

Paper was scarce and very costly. Much ingenuity
was exercised to find some substitute for it. News-
papers were printed on straw paper and paper hangings.
Brown paper and wall paper took the place of ordinary
letter paper. Some of the books published at the South
during war times are curiosities in the art of book
making.

2l8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

" There are many little things in which our daily life
is changed," said the wife of a Confederate general,
" many luxuries cut off from the table which we have
forgotten to miss. Our mode of procuring necessaries
is very different and far more complicated. The condi-
tion of our currency has brought about many curious
results ; for instance, I have just procured leather, for
our negro-shoes, by exchanging tallow for it, of which
we had a quantity from some fine beeves, fattened and
killed upon the place.

" I am now bargaining with a factory up the coun-
try, to exchange pork and lard with them for blocks of
yarn to weave negro-clothes ; and not only negro-cloth-
ing I have woven, I am now dyeing thread to weave
homespun for myself and daughters. I have ravelled
all the old scraps of fine worsteds and dark silks, to
spin thread for gloves for the general and self, which
gloves I am to knit. These home-knit gloves and these
homespun dresses will look much neater and nicer than
you would suppose. My daughters and I being in want
of under-garments, I sent a quantity of lard to the
Macon factory, and received in return fine unbleached
calico — a pound of lard paying for a yard of cloth.
They will not sell their cloth for money. This un-
bleached calico my daughters and self are now making

IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 2IO,

up for ourselves. You see some foresight is necessary
to provide for the necessaries of life.

" If I were to describe the cutting and altering of old
things to make new, which now perpetually go on, I
should far outstep the limits of a letter — perhaps I have
done so already — but I thought this sketch would
amuse you, and give you some idea of our Confederate
ways and means of living and doing. At Christmas I
sent presents to my relatives in Savannah, and instead
of the elegant trifles I used to give at that season, I be-
stowed as follows : several bushels of meal, peas, bacon,
lard, eggs, sausages, soap (home-made), rope, string, and
a coarse basket ! all which articles, I am assured, were
most warmly welcomed, and more acceptable than
jewels and silks would have been. To all of this we
are so familiarized that we laugh at these changes in
our ways of life, and keep our regrets for graver things."

Before the close of the Civil War the Confederate
currency had depreciated to such an extent that gold
was at more than twelve thousand per cent premium,
and the prices of all articles of trade had risen accord-
ingly. The situation was similar to that in the colonies
before independence was acknowledged, when it used
to be said : " Before the war we went to market with
the money in our pockets, and brought back our pur-

220 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

chases in a basket ; now we take the money in the bas-
ket, and bring the things home in our pocket."

A Southerner writes of the situation in the Confed-
eracy : " Matters must have been at a pretty pass when
quinine sold at two thousand dollars an ounce, and a
soldier paid a negro boy two hundred dollars for watch-
ing his horse while he ate bis dinner."

A cavalry officer, entenng a little country store, found
there one pair of boots which fitted him. He inquired
the price.

"Two hundred dollars," said the merchant.

A five-hundred-dollar bill was offered, but the mer-
chant, having no smaller bills, could not change it.

" Never mind," said the cavalier, " I'll take the boots
anyhow. Keep the change ; I never let a little matter
of three hundred dollars stand in the way of a trade."

Articles raised on the plantations were reasonably
cheap. Thus wood could be bought for fifteen dollars
a cord, and turkeys sold for ten dollars apiece. Luxu-
ries were very high, and only the richest people could
afford them.

Every appeal of the Southern generals to the people
for aid was bravely answered by the women of the South.
Blankets and overcoats were made for the soldiers at
the front from carpets taken up from the floors of hotels

IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 221

and private houses. Beds were stripped of coverings,
and rooms of rugs and curtains, and these were duly
sent to the suffering soldiers enduring the miseries of a
winter campaign in Virginia. Such were the straits and
ingenious expedients to which the people of the South
were driven during the long and bitter year* of the
war.

222 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXXVIII
FOES BECOME FRIENDS

Even in the fiercest heat of the war for the Union,
Americans did not forget that they were brothers.
Veteran soldiers remember it now with more sincerity,
because they fought more than a quarter of a century
ago for a cause which they deemed the right. Many
incidents of individual experiences of the war have
been published of late years. The main point in all
such incidents is the eagerness with which the kindness
of soldiers on the other side is extolled.

There is much in these incidents which may seem
sentimental to the generation which was born after the
war. But to Americans who remember how mighty
were the interests involved in it, and how desperate
was the struggle, these signs of the deep cordial peace
which now exists between the North and South have a
most pathetic and lofty meaning.

Only men who could nobly risk their fortunes and
their love for a cause they held to be right could clasp
hands when the struggle was over with forgiveness so
true and complete.

FOES BECOME FRIENDS. 223

Let us read of a few such incidents told by veteran
soldiers of both sides at the annual reunions.

A private in a New Jersey regiment took part in a
skirmish in which he was shot in the ankle, and again
by a minie ball under the shoulder-blade, through the
right lung. He was left for dead on the field. When
he revived, he was surrounded by the Confederates.
He lay for hours in an agony of pain and thirst, but
summoned courage at last to ask a young lad for a
drink.

The boy put his hand on his bayonet, saying, " I
would liefer give you this," and passed on. Then sud-
denly turning, he said, " We are not as bad as you think
us," and, stooping, gently lifted the head of the wounded
man, and put a canteen to his lips.

A battery was placed near to where he lay, and one
of the gunners, a man from Alabama, propped him up
on his own blanket, brought a bucket of water and put
it within reach, and came to him several times during
the night to change his position. The next day a
Southern doctor cut off his leg ; he was carried to the
hospital in Fredericksburg, and there was nursed by
the good women of the town, one of whom he after-
wards married.

224 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

At the reunion in Gettysburg, a few years ago, of the
old soldiers from the North and South, who had fought
against each other on that battle-field, many touching
little incidents occurred that showed how cordial was
the good-feeling now existing between the former
enemies.

" Just here," said a crippled New-Yorker, stopping on
the corner of a field, "my leg was shot off."

"And just here," said a man beside him, the sleeve
of whose gray coat hung empty, " I lost my arm."

The two men became friends at once, pitched a tent
on the spot that had been so eventful to both, and there
"kept house" together during the whole time of the
reunion. Each found the other to be a man of sense,
high principle, and good-feeling. They will probably
remain friends for life.

So many of the once bitter foes exchanged coats,
canteens, and knapsacks, in token of good-will, that it
became almost impossible to distinguish Northern from
Southern soldiers. They pitched their tents together,
most of the men preferring to camp again, instead of
going to the hotels, in order that they might meet their
old antagonists more freely, and discuss every incident
of the battle, about the bivouac fires.

A Northern officer brought to Gettysburg a sword,

FOES BECOME FRIENDS 225

gold-handled and set with jewels, which he had taken
from a young Southerner. After the war was over he
had tried in vain to restore it. He now gave it to the
commandant of the corps to which its owner belonged,
in the hope that it might reach him at last.

A large man and a very small one met on the street.

"I think I have seen you before," said the small
man.

" Yes, I took you prisoner," was the reply. Where-
upon they shook hands heartily, took dinner together,
and the next day brought a photographer to the spot
where they had fought, and had their pictures taken
standing with uncovered heads and clasped hands.

An old Pennsylvania farmer, after reading an account
of this celebration at Gettysburg, in which both Union
and Confederate soldiers bore a part, said, " I went to
Gettysburg the night after the battle in 1863, and helped
to bury the dead.

" One lad, I remember, in a gray uniform, whom we
dragged from under a heap of dead bodies, was still
breathing. He was but a pretty, chubby-faced school-
boy. We brought the surgeon, and worked with him
for an hour, but it was too late, he was too far gone to
feel the probe. He turned uneasily, smiling and mut-

226 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

tering something, which showed that he thought he was
back at home.

" * Mother ! dear mother ! p he said, and tried to lift
his arms. Then came the fearful choking, and he was
dead.

" Close beside him was the body of a private, belong-
ing to the Sixty-eighth Pennsylvania. He was a young,
firmly built man, with a face which, even in death, was
gentle and kindly. His sunburned skin and horny
hands showed him to have been a farmer.

"In his breast pocket we found a letter from * Jenny,'
with a few words about the crops and the poultry ; but
the letter was mainly ' Baby,' its doings and sayings,
and at the bottom was a great blot made by Baby's own
hand.

" Next his heart was a little photograph of a sweet-
faced girl and a child, evidently Jenny and the baby.

" We buried the two men side by side.

"The blue and gray coated soldiers, the other day,
were talking, and laughing, and fraternizing together
over their graves, and near by, the corner-stone of a
church, dedicated to the ' Prince of Peace,' was laid.

" But it seemed to me as if those two gallant boys who
fought against one another here, each for a cause which
he deemed just, must have long ago met elsewhere, and

FOES BECOME FRIENDS 227

recognized each other as friends, and soldiers under one
Captain."

The reception at Atlanta, in the fall of 1881, of the
hero of the " March through Georgia," was a striking
example of the generosity and warm-hearted forgetful-
ness of the Southern people. A Southern writer
pleads for a better understanding with these people,
with whom we were once at war, and draws the follow-
ing vivid sketch of General Sherman's two visits to
Atlanta : —

" He was at Atlanta once — and he looked the city
over. I may say he felt it over. He made the ac-
quaintance of its citizens, and its citizens made his
acquaintance. The acquaintance may be said to have
been mutual if not cordial. It was a decidedly warm
acquaintance. When that stern commander got through
with the city it looked with its bare and blackened
chimneys like a forest of girdlings. Not a building oi
consequence was left.

" Seventeen years go by, and the man at whose order
the city of Atlanta went up in smoke to come down in
ashes, is invited by the authorities of the Exposition, a
majority of whom were citizens of Atlanta, to return to
that city as a guest.

228 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

" I said to myself, How will they receive him as they
remember their beautiful homes, their business blocks,
their churches reduced to ashes, their city which on one
day stood fair and beautiful as a bride in the light, and
which on the next was a heap of shapeless ruins ?

"I secured my seat early and near the stand in the
judges' hall, that I might study the problem of contending
emotions, this phenomenon of a people rising superior
to their prejudices and even to their very memories.
For half an hour the people filed in till the hall was
packed. I overheard the conversation which went on
about me. One man from Louisville declared it was
adding insult to injury — Sherman's return to Atlanta.
Two others immediately took him to task. They said
to him, —

" ' Do not talk in that way. We live here. Sherman
burned our property ; but he did it in the heat of war.
While war lasted we fought him ; but the war is over,
and General Sherman has come here to-day as the guest
of Atlanta.'

" Presently the hero entered with his comrades of the
Mexican War, many of them former generals of the Con-
federate army. Instantly there was an ovation of ap-
plause and waving of handkerchiefs. But I said, ' This
may be intended for the Southern generals.' The speech

FOES BECOMF FRIENDS 229

was made and the exercises were about to close, when
from all parts of the house there arose one universal
and prolonged cry of l Sherman ! Sherman ! Sher-
man ! ' And when he stepped from his place among
his comrades and mounted the stand, the applause arose
to a deafening roar.

" ' I said, ' This is one of the grandest displays of
magnanimity to a former foe that the world has ever
witnessed.' "

23O STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

XXXIX

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY

[Francis Miles Finch.]

■m poem is founded upon an incident that occurred at Columbus, Miss., on
Memorial Day, 1867, when flowers were strewn upon the graves of Confederate
and Federal soldiers alike.

By the flow of the inland river,

Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead ;
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day ;
Under the one, the Blue;
Under the other, the Gray.

These, in the robings of glory,

Those, in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet ;
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day;
Under the laurel, the Blue ;
Under the willow, the Gray.

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 23 1

From the silence of sorrowful hours

The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers

Alike for the friend and the foe ;
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day ;
Under the roses, the Blue ;
Under the lilies, the Gray.

So, with an equal splendor,

The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all ;
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue ;
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain ;
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day ;
Wet with the rain, the Blue ;
Wet with the rain, the Gray.

232 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

Sadly, but not with upbraiding,

The generous deed was done ;
In the storm of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won ;
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue ;
Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more shall the war-cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red ;
They banish our anger forever,

When they laurel the graves of our dead.
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day ;
Love and tears for the Blue ;
Tears and love for the Gray.

UNION SOLDIERS RALLYING ROUND THE FLAG.

BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION 233

XL

THE BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION

[From GerrisK's "Reminiscences of the IVar."]

Nearly a generation has passed away since the break-
ing out of the war, and many of those now living know
but little of the soldier's sacrifices. These should not
be forgotten ; the nation cannot afford to have them
blotted out. They sacrificed for a time all the domestic
relations of life. This may appear to some as a very
small sacrifice to make. But ask that man who, on that
eventful morning, kissed his wife good-by, and pressed
his little child to his breast for the last time, as he
shouldered his knapsack and marched away; or ask the
smooth-faced lad who went forth to battle, with his
mother's kiss damp upon his brow ; and they will tell
you of a fearful experience that raged within their hearts.
This is one of the greatest sacrifices that men can be
called upon to make for the country, and none but patri-
otic men can make it. They sacrificed the conveniences
and comforts of home for the inconveniences and suf-
ferings of the field. No army was ever marshalled

234 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

upon the globe, that left such homes of comfort and
luxury as did the Union army, in the war of the rebel-
lion. They exchanged the mansion of comfort for the
miserable shelter tent ; the soft, clean bed, for a sol
dier's blanket spread upon the hard ground ; good
wholesome food, for the scanty rations of a soldier ; lives
of ease and healthy labor, for the exhaustion and weari-
ness of forced marches ; they threw aside for a period
of years the personal liberty so dear to every American
citizen, and took upon themselves a species of slavery,
to be commanded by other men who were frequently
their inferiors in all save military rank. They exchanged
a life of comparative safety for one filled with a thou-
sand dangers ; they stepped forth from the peaceful
circles of safety, within which so many remained, and
boldly stood forth in the way where death passed by ;
and there bravely battled for the principles of liberty
and justice. All these sacrifices were made for the sal-
vation of the Republic.

These men suffered without complaint. What a les-
son may be learned from their example ! I wonder if
the young people of our day ever stop to think how
much their fathers and grandfathers who fought the
battles of the Union suffered, sleeping on the hard,
frozen ground, the cold winds sweeping over them, with

BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION 2$$

nothing but their thin, ragged clothing to protect them
from the elements, marching barefooted over the rough
roads where their tracks were stained with blood that
flowed from their lacerated feet, weary and exhausted,
famishing with hunger when the government had no
bread to give them ; lying for days on the battle-fields
between the contending lines, with broken limbs and
mangled bodies, the sun pouring its deadly rays upon
them, without food, their lips and throats parching with
thirst, no medical aid, and their gaping wounds fester-
ing in the intense heat. All this they endured without
murmuring, to preserve the Union. What an example
they have set for us to follow ! The patient sufferings
of our soldiers through those four years of war should
be held up as object lessons before our American youth,
for all the years to come, that their hearts may be
moulded in the same patriotic love and devotion for the
country's welfare.

Our soldiers were brave men, and faced dangers fear-
lessly. The nation, I fear, is forgetting those deeds of
bravery too rapidly. If we could only pass along those
battle lines once more, and gather up those feats of in-
dividual daring, so many of which occurred in every
regiment — deeds, which, if they had been performed
in the Spartan wars, or in the days of the Crusaders,

2$6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR ,

or of Napoleon the First, would have been recorded on
the pages of history, and would thrill the passing gen-
erations as they read ! I wish we could gather up the
unwritten history of the war — the deeds that were per-
formed by heroes whose names were never known out-
side the ranks where they fought, or the beloved circle
of friends at home, and which, if preserved, would fill
volumes. These soldiers were as modest as they were
brave, and many of them have never spoken of the wild
adventures through which they passed, or of the nar-
row escapes, the hand-to-hand encounters which they
experienced, or of the shot and shells that went tear-
ing past them, so near that the slightest deviation
from their onward course would have caused their
death. These events are locked up within their own
breasts, cherished as sacred reminders of God's provi-
dence in preserving their lives. But some evening, as
you sit beside some maimed hero, draw him forth from
his seclusion, get him to unfold that secret chapter of
his life, and as he proceeds with that wonderful narra-
tive, you will decide that I have not exaggerated when I
have claimed that the soldiers who fought for the Union
were brave men.

MEMORIAL DAY 237

XLI

MEMORIAL DAY

How dear to the hearts of the American people is
Memorial Day, one of the red-letter days of the year.
It began in the South. A few mourning women assem-
bled each year to lay flowers on the graves of their dead.
The custom soon became general in both South and
North. It may be that during the first few years bitter-
ness and animosity towards the living mingled with the
honors given to the dead. But sectional enmity faded
out of the hearts of both conquerors and conquered
long ago. For a few years it seemed as if Decoration
Day, as it was first called, would be given over to stump
speeches, athletic sports, regattas, and frivolous amuse-
ments generally. The sad anniversary of mourning
threatened to become a noisy echo of the Fourth of
July. The decency and right feeling of the people,
however, has checked this tendency, and restored the
day to its sacred purpose. With each year, too, the
wish has been more widely expressed that not only
the graves of soldiers, but of all the heroic dead, should
be honored.

238 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

How dear to every one, both old and young, are the
familiar ceremonies of this sacred anniversary ! Year
by year, the ranks of the gray-haired and grizzled vet-
erans become thinner as they march on Memorial Day,
with faltering steps, in the ranks of the Grand Army of
the Republic. The beautiful and pathetic ceremonies
of the day are now celebrated in every nook and corner
of our broad land. It is exceedingly appropriate that
school children should collect the flowers, sing their
beautiful songs, and decorate the graves of the heroic
dead. It will remind them in the most impressive man-
ner how their fathers and grandfathers fought the bat-
tles of their country.

A number of years ago, a famous orator, and a
brave officer during the war, was called upon to address
the veteran soldiers on Memorial Day in Indianapolis.
The following eloquent passage from his oration can
be read and re-read many times, and one will not tire of
ft. Its stirring patriotism is only exceeded by its ten-
tier pathos and vivid imagery.

" The past rises before me like a dream. Again we
are in the great struggle for national life. We hear the
sounds of preparation — the music of the boisterous
drums — the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see
thousands tf Assemblages, and hear the appeals of ora-

MEMORIAL DAY 239

tors ; we see the pale cheeks of women, and the flushed
faces of men ; and in those assemblages we see all the
dead whose dust we have covered with flowers. We
lose sight of them no more. We are with them when
they enlist in the great army of freedom. We see
them part from those they love. Some are walking for
the last time in quiet woody places with the maidens
they adore. We hear the whisperings and the sweet
vows of eternal love as they lingeringly part forever.
Others are bending over cradles, kissing babies that are
asleep. Some are receiving the blessings of old men.
Some are parting, who hold them and press them to
their hearts again and again, and say nothing; and
some are talking with wives, and endeavoring with
brave words, spoken in the old tones, to drive from their
hearts the awful fear. We see them part. We see
the wife standing in the door, with the babe in her
arms — standing in the sunlight, sobbing — at the
turn of the road a hand waves — she answers by
holding high in her loving hands the child. He is
gone, and forever.

" We see them all as they march proudly away under
the flaunting flags, keeping time to the wild, grand
music of war — marching down the streets of the great
cities — through the towns and across the prairies —

24O STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

down to the fields of glory, to do and to die for the
eternal right.

"We go with them one and all. We are by their side
on all the gory fields, in all the hospitals of pain, on all
the weary marches. We stand guard with them in the
wild storm and under the quiet stars. We are with
them in ravines running with blood, in the furrows of
old fields. We are with them between contending
hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, the life ebbing
slowly away among the withered leaves. We see them
pierced by balls and torn with shells in the trenches by
forts, and in the whirlwind of the charge, where men
become iron, with nerves of steel.

" We are with them in the prisons of hatred and fam-
ine ; but human speech can never tell what they endured.

" We are at home when the news comes that they are
dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her first
sorrow. We see the silvered head of the old man bowed
with the last grief.

" The past rises before us, and we see four millions of
human beings governed by the lash ; we see them bound
hand and foot ; we hear the strokes of cruel whips ; we
see the hounds tracking women through tangled swamps.
We see babes sold from the breasts of mothers. Cruelty
unspeakable ! Outrage infinite !

MEMORIAL DAY 24I

" Four million bodies in chains — four million souls
in fetters. All the sacred relations of wife, mother,
father, and child, trampled beneath the brutal feet of
might. And all this was done under our own beautiful
banner of the free.

" The past rises before us. We hear the roar and
shriek of the bursting shell. The broken fetters fall.
These heroes died. We look. Instead of slaves we
see men, and women, and children. The wand of prog-
ress touches the auction-block, the slave-pen, the
whipping-post, and we see homes and firesides, and
school-houses and books, and where all was want and
crime and cruelty and fetters, we see the faces of the
free.

"These heroes are dead. They died for liberty —
they died for us. They are at rest."

242 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR.

XLII

ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY

Bring flowers to strew again

With fragrant purple rain

Of lilacs, and of roses white and red,

The dwellings of our dead, our glorious dead !

Let the bells ring a solemn funeral chime,

And wild war music bring anew the time

When they who sleep beneath

Were full of vigorous breath,
And in their lusty manhood sallied forth,

Holding in strong right hand

The fortunes of the land,
The pride and power and safety of the North !
It seems but yesterday
The long and proud array —
But yesterday when even the solid rock
Shook as with earthquake shock, —
As North and South, like two huge icebergs, ground
Against each other with convulsive bound,

ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY 243

And the whole world stood still

To view the mighty war,

And hear the thunderous roar,
While sheeted lightnings wrapped each plain and hill.

Alas ! how few came back

From battle and from wrack !

Alas ! how many lie

Beneath a Southern sky,

Who never heard the fearful fight was done,

And all they fought for won.

Sweeter, I think, their sleep,

More peaceful and more deep,

Could they but know their wounds were not in vain,

Could they but hear the grand triumphal strain,

And see their homes unmarred by hostile tread.

Ah ! let us trust it is so with our dead —

That they the thrilling joy of triumph feel,

And in that joy disdain the foeman's steel.

We mourn for all, but each doth think of one
More precious to the heart than aught beside —

Some father, brother, husband, or some son

Who came not back, or, coming, sank and died :
In him the whole sad list is glorified !
" He fell 'fore Richmond, in the seven long days

244 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR

When battle raged from morn till blood-dewed eve,
And lies there," one pale widowed mourner says,

And knows not most to triumph or to grieve.
" My boy fell at Fair Oaks," another sighs ;
"And mine at Gettysburg!" his neighbor cries,

And that great name each sad-eyed listener thrills.
I think of one who vanished when the press
Of battle surged along the Wilderness,

And mourned the North upon her thousand hills.
Yes, bring fresh flowers and strew the soldier's grave,

Whether he proudly lies

Beneath our Northern skies,
Or where the Southern palms their branches wave !
Let the bells toll and wild war-music swell,
And for one day the thought of all the past —
Of all those memories vast —
Come back and haunt us with its mighty spell !
Bring flowers, then, once again,
And strew with fragrant rain
Of lilacs, and of roses white and red,
The dwellings of our dead.

SUPPLEMENTARY READING

The following books will prove of great interest to
young people who may wish to read about the great
Civil War.

1. C. Carleton Coffin's Days and Nights on the Battlefield.

2. C. Carleton Coffin's Drum-beat of the Nation.

3. C. Carleton Coffin's Marching to Victory.

4. C. Carleton Coffin's Redeeming the Republic.

5. Abbot's Battlefields of '61.

6. Abbot's Blue Jackets of '61.

7. Champlin's Ydung Folks' History of the War for
the Union.

8. Goss's Jed. A Boy's Adventures in the Army.

9. Keiffer's Recollections of a Drummer Boy.

10. Soley's Sailor Boys of '61.

11. Williams's Bullet and Shell.

12. Billings's Hardtack and Coffee.

13. P. C. Headley's Young Folks' Heroes of the
Rebellion. 6 volumes: illustrated. Consisting of: Fight it Out on
this Line ; The Life of General Grant. Facing the Enemy ; The Life of
General Sherman. Fighting Phil ; The Life of General Sheridan. Old
Salamander; The Life of Admiral Farragut. The Miner Boy and his
Monitor ; The Career of John Ericsson, Engineer. Old Stars ; The Life
of Major-General O. M. Mitchel.

14. Battles and Leaders of the Civil War. 3 volumes, with
hundreds of illustrations. Battles and events described by the great
generals of the war. An invaluable work of reference for the school
library

245

American Heroes and Heroines

fK.^:<i c-}:-^:y< soi'Ji

By Pauline Carrington Bouve Illustrated
i2mo Cloth $1.25

THIS book, which will tend directly toward
the making of patriotism in young Americans,
contains some twenty brief, clever and attractive
sketches of famous men and women in American
history, among them Father Marquette, Anne
Hutchinson, Israel Putnam, Molly Pitcher, Paul
Jones, Dolly Madison, Daniel Boone, etc. Mrs.
Bouve is well known as a writer both of fiction and
history, and her work in this case is admirable.

"The style of the book for simplicity and clearness
of expression could hardly be excelled." — Boston
Budget.

The Scarlet Patch

The Story of a Patriot Boy in the Mohawk Valley

By Mary E. Q. Brush Illustrated by George W. Picknell $1.25
U,THHE Scarlet Patch" was the badge of a Tory organization, and a
JL loyal patriot boy, Donald Bastien, is dismayed at learning that his
uncle, with whom he is a ''bound boy," is secretly connected with this
treacherous band. Thrilling scenes follow in which a faithful Indian
figures prominently, and there is a vivid presentation of the school and
home life as well as the public affairs of those times.

" A book that will be most valuable to the library of the young boy." — Provi-
dence News.

Stories of Brave Old Times

Some Pen Pictures of Scenes Which

Took Place Previous to, or Connected

With, the American Revolution

By Helen M. Cleveland Profusely illustra-
ted Large i2mo Cloth $1.25
IT is a book for every library, a book for
adults, and a book for the young. Per-
haps no other book yet written sets the great
cost of freedom so clearly before the young,
'consequently is such a spur to patriotism.

" It can unqualifiedly be commended as a book for
youthful readers; its great wealth of illustrations
adding to its value." — Chicago News.

HEUN HCl£VaA.ST>

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price
by the publishers,

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BOOKS BY FVERETT T. TOMLINSON.

THE WAR OF 1812 SERIES

Six volumes Cloth Illustrated by A. &
Shute Price per volume reduced to $1.25

No American writer for boys has ever occupied
a higher position than Dr. Tomlinson, and the
"War of 1812 Series'5 covers a field attempted
by no other juvenile literature in a manner that
has secured continued popularity.

The Search for Andrew Field
The Boy Soldiers of 1812
The Boy Officers of 1812
Tecumseh's Young Braveo
Guarding the Border
The Boys with Old Hickory

ST. LAWRENCE SERIES

CRUISING IN THE ST. LAWRENCE

Being the third volume of the "St. Lawrence Series " Cloth

Illustrated Price $1.50

Our old friends, "Bob," "Ben," "Jock," and "Bert," having completed

fheir sophomore year at college, plan to spend the summer vacation cruising
on the noble St. Lawrence. Here they not only visit places of historic inter-
est, but also the Indian tribes encamped on the banks of the rive/, and learr
from them their customs, habits, and quaint legends.

. . PREVIOUS VOLUMES

CAMPING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE

Or, On the Trail of the Early Discoverers

Cloth Illustrated $1.50

THE HOUSE-BOAT ON THE ST. LAWRENCE

Or, Following Frontenac
«Jloth Illustrated $1.50

BY THB SAME AUTHOR

STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION
Fvet and Second Series Cloth Illustrated $1.00 each

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co,, Boston

War for the Union Series

By EVERETT T. TOMLINSON

12mo Cloth Illustrated $1.50 Each

For the Stars and Stripes

^PHIS story is based on true happenings and
*■ the thread of it is the escape of a young
Union soldier from a Southern prison. Graphic-
ally told incidents, true to fact, crowd each other.
There are guerillas, prisons, campaigns, negroes,
friends and enemies, loyal men and others, all
patts of the tale. Above all, the book is inter-
esting as v/ell as intrinsically valuable, and the
keynote to the series will be loyalty to a re-
united country, in which sentiment those of all
sections can heartily join.

••There are enough exciting events to suit the
average live boy, and there is the advantage of a back-
ground of reality and a lesson in history.*' — Brooklyn
Eagle.

'•The author has a felicitous way of reaching and holding the boyish mind
and heart with his excellent stories with historical backgrounds." — Chicago
News.

The Young Blockaders

THIS story takes its readers into the midst of
the blockading fleet. Without bitterness it
portrays some of the daring 'deeds of each side
in the struggle. Naturally, its incidents and
adventures are based upon the daring attempts
of the blockader and the blockade-runner to
outwit each other. There is an abundance of
action and excitement in the story, which is
founded upon fact. Its readers will be interested
and will obtain an insight into an important and
comparatively unfamiliar phase of the " Irrepres-
sible Conflict."

interest to a higher plane than the average fiction for young people." — Baptist

Dr Tomlinson's stories have an earnest purpose that lifts their engrossing

, fie "
Watchman.

" It is a good story, and the author, who has written so much and so success-
fully for boys, is at his best in this volume." — Buffalo News,

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

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Making of Our Nation Series

By WILLIAM C. SPRAQUE

Large nmo, Cloth Illustrated by A.

Price per volume, $1.50

B. Shute

THE BOY COURIER OF
NAPOLEON

ASTOFYOP

The Boy Courier of Napoleon

A Story of the Louisiana Purchase

WILLIAM C. SPRAGUE, the notably suc-
cessful editor of "The American Boy,"
has given for the first time the history
of the Louisiana Purchase in entertaining story
form. The hero is introduced as a French
drummer boy in the great battle of Hohenlinden.
He serves as a valet to Napoleon and later is
sent with secret messages to the French in San
Domingo and in Louisiana. After exciting ad-
ventures he accomplishes his mission and is
present at the lowering of the Spanish flag, and
later at that of the French and the raising oi
the Stars and Stripes.

"All boys and girls of our country who read this book will be delighted with it,
as well as benefited by the historical knowledge contained in its pages." — Louis,
ville, Ky.% Times.

"An excellent book for boys, containing just enough history to make thern hunge*
for more. No praise of this book can be too high." — Town Topic-, Cleveland, O,

"This book is one to fascinate every intelligent American boy." — Buffalo Times

The Boy Pathfinder

A Story of the Oregon TraiS

THIS book has as its hero an actual character,
George Shannon, a Pennsylvania lad, who
at seventeen left school to become one of
the Lewis and Clark expedition. He had nar-
row escapes, but persevered, and the story of
his wanderings, interwoven with excellent his-
torical information, makes the highest type of
general reading for the young.

"It is a thoroughly good story, full of action and
adventure and at the same time carrying a bit of real
history accurately recorded." — Universalist Leader,
Boston .

"It is an excellent book for a boy to read." — New.
ark, N. J., Advertiser.

WM C SPRAGUE

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of
price by the publishers

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Famous Children

By H. Twitchell Illustrated $1.25

WE have here a most valuable book, telling
not of the childhood of those who have
afterwards become famous, but those who as
children are famous in history, song, and story.
For convenience the subjects are grouped as
«* Royal Children," '< Child Artists," "Learned
Children," " Devoted Children," "Child Mar-
tyrs," and "Heroic Children," and the names
of the " two little princes," Louis XVII. , Mo-
zart, St. Genevieve, David, and Joan of Arc are
here, as well as those of many more.

BOMBS

♦FAMOUS*
CHILDREN

H TWITCHELL

The Story of the Cid

For Young
People

By Calvin Dill Wilson Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy $1.25

MR. WILSON, a well-known writer and reviewer, has prepared from
Southey's translation, which was far too cumbrous to entertain the
young, a book that will kindle the imagination of youth and entertain and
inform those of advanced years.

Jason's Quest

By D. O. S. Lowell, A. M., M. D. Master ia
Roxbury Latin School Illustrated $1.00

NOTHING can be better to arouse the imagin-
ation of boys and girls, and at the same
time store in their minds knowledge indispens-
able to any one who would be known as cul-
tured, or happier than Professor Lowell's way
of telling a story, and the many excellent draw«
ings have lent great spirit to the narrative.

Heroes of the Crasades

By Amanda M. Douglas Cloth Fifty full-page illustrations $1.50

THE romantic interest in the days of chivalry, so fully exemplified by
the " Heroes of the Crusades," is permanent and properly so. This
book is fitted to keep it alive without descending to improbability or
cheap sensationalism.

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price
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We Four Girls

By Mary G. Darling i2mo Cloth Il-
lustrated by Bertha G. Davidson
$1.25

" \\JE FOUR GIRLS " is a bright story
** of a summer vacation in the coun-
try, where these girls were sent for study
and recreation. The story has plenty of
natural incidents; and a mild romance, in
which they are all interested, and of which
their teacher is the principal person, gives
interest to the tale. They thought it the
most delightful summer they ever passed.

A Girl of this Century

By Mary G. Darling Cloth Illustrated
by Lilian Crawford True $1.25

THE same characters that appear in
4 'We Four Girls :i are retained in
this story, the interest centering around
" Marjorie," the natural leader of the four.
She has a brilliant course at Radcliffe, and
then comes the world. A romance, long
resisted, but worthy in nature and of happy
termination, crowns this singularly well-
drawn life of the noblest of all princesses —
a true American girl.

Beck'S Fortline A Story of School and Seminary Life

By Adele E. Thompson Goth Illustrated $1.25

THE characters in this book seem to live, their remarks are bright and
natural, and the incidental humor delightful. The account of Beck's
narrow and cheerless early life, her sprightly independence, and unexpected
competency that aids her to progress through the medium of seminary life
to noble womanhood, is one that mothers can commend to their daughters
unreservedly.

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H Boy of a thousand
Vear$ jffeo

By Harriet T. Comstock. Large i2mo
Profusely illustrated with full-page draw-
ings and chapter headings by Georgb
Varian $too

IT will at once be understood that the
"boy" of the story is Alfred the Great
in his youth, but it cannot be understood
how delightful a story this is until it is seen
and read. The splendid pictures of George
Varian make this book superior among
juveniles.

•* Not a boy lives who will not enjoy this book thoroughly. There is a good
deal of first-class historical information woven into the story, but the best part of it
is the splendid impression of times and manners it gives in old England a thousand
years ago." — Louisville Courier-Journal. \

41 Mrs. Comstock writes very appreciatively of Little Alfred, who was after,
ward the Great, and from mighty meagre materials creates a story that hangs to.
gether well. The illustrations for this Toiume *ure especially beautiful." — Boston
Home Journal.

ZU Story of 3oan of Arc boys Indrgirls

By Kate E. Carpenter Illustrated by
Amy Brooks, also from paintings, and
with map Large i2mo Cloth $1.00

THE favorite story of Joan of Arc is here
treated in a uniquely attractive way.
11 Aunt Kate " tells the story of Joan of Arc
to Master Harold, aged II, and to Misses
Bessie and Marjorie, aged 10 and 8, respec-
tively, to their intense delight. They look
up places on the map, and have a fine time
1 while hearing the thrilling story, told in such
.simple language that they can readily under-
stand it all. Parents and teachers will also
be greatly interested in this book from an
educational point of view.

••The tale is well told and the children will delight to it,"— Chicago Post.

••Told so simply and clearly that young readers cannot fail to be entertained
Kid instructed." — Congregationalist^ Boston.

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Makers of England Series

By EVA MARCH TAPPAN, Ph.D

D

R. TAPPAN'S historical works have
already become classics for the young,
and well do they deserve it, with their enter-
taining descriptions, perfect English, and
historical value. Such books are the best
that can be placed in the hands of children ;
and the fact that while being instructive there
is never a dull line is the highest commen-
dation that can be offered.

In the Days of Alfred the Great

Cloth Fully illustrated Price $1.00

In the Days of William the Conqueror

Cloth Illustrated by J. W. Kennedy Price $1.00

In the Days of Queen Elizabeth

Cloth Illustrated from famous paintings Price $1.00

In the Days of Queen Victoria

Cloth Illustrated from paintings and photographs Price $I.OO

MISS TAPPAN reads her authorities
intelligently and selects her material
wisely, always having her young audience well
in mind. She has a clear idea of the require-
ments for interesting and stimulating young
readers, and arousing in them a desire for fur-
ther research. The entire series are admir-
ably adapted to this end, and are warmly
recommended to the attention of parents,
teachers, and librarians. — " Era," Philadel-
phia, Pa.

, LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

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When I Was a Boy in Japan

By Sakae Shioya Illustrated from photographs
i2mo Cloth $.75

THE author was born fifty miles from
Tokio, and at the age of twelve began
the study of English at a Methodist school.
Later he studied Natural Science in the First
Imperial College at Tokio, after which he
taught English and Mathematics. He came
to America in 1901, received the degree of
Master of Arts at the University of Chicago,
and took a two years' post-graduate course at
Yale before returning to Japan. No one
could be better qualified to introduce the
Japanese to those in America, and he has
done it in a way that will delight both
children and parents.

When 1 Was a Girl in Italy

By Marietta Ambrosi i2mo Cloth Illustrated $-75

THE author, Marietta Ambrosi, was born in Tyrol, having an American-
born mother of Italian descent, and a Veronese father. Her entire
girlhood was spent in Brescia and other cities of Northern Italy, and in
early womanhood she came with her family to America. Her story gives
a most graphic account of the industries, social customs, dress, pleasures,
and religious observances of the Italian common people.

When I Was a Boy in China

By Yan Phou Lee i2mo Cloth Illustrated from
photographs $.75

NEW YORK INDEPENDENT says: "Yan Phou Lee was one of
the young men sent to this country to be educated here, rmd finally
matriculated at Yale, where he graduated with honor. 'When I was a
Boy in China ' embodies his recollections of his native country. It is
certainly attractive, with more room for nature to operate and play in
freely than is generally attributed to Chinese life."

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U. S. SERVICE SERIES

By FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER

Illustrations from photographs taken in work for U. S. Government
Large 12mo Cloth $1.50 per volume

THE BOY WITH THE U. S. SURVEY

APPEALING to the boy's love of excitement,
this series gives actual experiences in the
different branches of United States Government
work little known to the general public. This
story describes the thrilling adventures of members
of the U. S. Geological Survey, graphically
woven into a stirring narrative that both pleases
and instructs. The author enjoys an intimate
acquaintance with the chiefs of the various
bureaus in Washington, and is able to obtain at
first hand the material for the books.

"There is abundant charm and vigor in the narrative
which is sure to please the boy readers and will do
much toward stimulating their patriotism by making
them alive to the needs of conservation of the vast
resources of their country." — Chicago Nexus.
book one can heartily recommendfor boys^ and it has life

"This is
enough to suit the most eager of them.

■Christian Register ', Boston.

THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FORESTERS

THE life of a typical boy is followed in all its
adventurous detail — the mighty representa-
tive of our country's government, though young
in years — a youthful monarch in a vast domain of
forest. Replete with information, alive with
adventure, and inciting patriotism at every step,
this handsome book is one to be instantly
appreciated.

"It is at once a most entertaining and instructive
study of forestry and a most delightful story of boy life
in the service.'1 — Cincinnati Times-Star ,

"It is a fascinating romance of real life in our
country, and will prove a great pleasure and inspiration
to the boys who read it." — The Continent , Chicago,

" No one beginning to read this book will willingly
lay it down till he has reached the last chapter." —
Christian Advocate, Cincinnati,

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